


Good Things Come in Small Packages

by MissMoe



Category: National Football League RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Fluff and Angst, Green Bay Packers, Hand Jobs, Houston Texans, Humor, I love you but I'm still an asshole, Light Bondage, M/M, National Football League, Phone Sex, Rimming, Romance, Shameless Smut, Size Kink, Spanking, Strap-on dildo, Stuffing, Threesome - F/M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Why Did I Write This?, Why is my boyfriend such a douche?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-12-15 22:24:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 31,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11815386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoe/pseuds/MissMoe
Summary: JJ Watt finally meets the love of his life. It's not what he expects.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, it's Tuesday night and I've indulged in martinis and that always leads to thoughts of my favorite NFL player: JJ Watt.
> 
> I'm thinking I'll let this story unfold as the 2017 football season gets underway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****  
> On November 10, 2017, someone going by 'Anonymous' falsely claimed authorship of this story by posting the following on a website called 4chan, stating: "I wrote a 31,000 word gay fanfiction between JJ Watt and Aaron Rodgers. What do you guys think? It's my OTP." 
> 
> This person then provides a direct link to this story on AO3.
> 
> All I can say is: whoever you are, please don't steal someone else's work! Don't take credit for anything, good or bad, that isn't truly your own doing. If you are a fan of JJ or Aaron or anything, write your own freaking story! Seriously. 
> 
> Fanfiction writers post stories in good faith. Read it if you like it. Don't read it if you dislike it. If you like it and want to share or cite it, then give proper credit. Please don't plagiarize or make false claims. It destroys all trust between reader and writer and it is such a dishonest thing to do.  
> *****

 

PROLOGUE 

It was easy enough to hook up with Aaron during the offseason: charity events, celebrity golf tournaments, fishing trips. There was always the ESPY Awards and hot sex with his favorite Green Bay Packer in a four-star hotel afterwards. It had been touch-and-go during Aaron’s fling with that actress. She was pretty alright, but certainly not A-list. Not like JJ’s crush, the inimitable Jennifer Aniston. He was convinced that he could get her pregnant, not like her loser husband, another third-rate actor, whose sperm couldn’t get the job done. If only Jennifer would give him a chance. JJ was sure he could give her the offspring she so desired, and then they could ride off into the sunset, just like he imagined in his fevered mind as he beat off in the shower. Christ, he had to get a life.

*** 

It was Wednesday and JJ was in Janesville for his regular appointment with Rosalie, his Vietnamese massage therapist. She was probably the only Asian within sixty miles, not counting the waiters in the Chinese restaurant in Elkhorn. Aside from Jennifer Aniston, JJ had a huge crush on Rosalie. She was petite, with the most slender and elegant fingers, yet she could paralyze him with a simple touch. She had perfect creamy white unblemished skin, bright dark eyes, and a small mouth with full lips. She wore heavy makeup but, somehow, it made her look alluring rather than slutty. Rosalie spoke in clipped, heavily accented English. The sound of her feminine lilting voice was like music, like a small bird singing. And she gave the most exquisite _happy endings_. 

“JJ. You are so hard, so big,” Rosalie purred as she twisted her closed hand firmly up his slicked cock. “You are going to come so hard, aren’t you?” She ghosted the fingers of her other hand across his balls, the lightest of touches, then pressed a knuckle right below against his taint. 

“Fuck, yeah!” JJ groaned. He arched his back off the table and shot his load. Half of it landed on his chest, the other half who-knows-where, he really couldn’t worry about such things. 

“There, there,” soothed Rosalie. She gently wiped him off with a towel and then said cheerfully, “You can get dressed now. I’ll see you next week, okay?” 

Rosalie was married, though, and had a young child named Oliver, so he couldn’t exactly make known the lust he harbored in his heart. The whole thing—his whole pathetic love life, or lack thereof—made JJ profoundly depressed. Through the years he had filled his free time at the gym flipping semi tires, jumping on boxes, bench pressing insane pounds, doing push ups with one hand. Then he’d go home and jerk off after eating three steaks at his parents’ house. He knew there had to be something better than this, better even than winning the Super Bowl, a goal that he had yet to achieve and which Aaron, the lucky bastard, had already reached.

“I’m only twenty-eight,” JJ told himself. “I still have time. I can still make it happen.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

AUGUST 

August meant training camp, and training camp this year meant schlepping the team to The Greenbrier in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia. They were in full pads for the two joint practices with the New England Patriots and it was oh so satisfying for JJ to suit up against the last team he had played before his season-ending back injury the year before. There was nothing like diving right into the training routine after enduring all the restrictions placed on him while he rehabbed from the surgeries. The excitement of mixing it up with a bunch of humungous men—and the very real element of pain and danger—was enough to give JJ a hard-on, even if some of the more jaded veterans were busy strategizing on who was going to prank which rookie player. JJ stayed out of those heated negotiations and concentrated instead on getting back to form. He had the most ground to make up, after all, having missed almost an entire season in a game that will pass you by if you blink a moment too long. Make that mistake, and you’ll find that someone younger, stronger and faster is now sitting in front of your locker while you’ve been kicked to the curb. 

JJ was acutely aware of all that as he went through his warm-up stretches and sprints. The media was all over him, as usual, and he let them follow him around for a sound bite or two before actual practice got underway. He tried to watch his mouth, especially since the place was crawling with fans and a good number of children, but it was awfully hard not to greet his teammates and coaches with the requisite, “Hey, fuckers!” JJ maintained a friendly, professional public demeanor for the sake of his mother, who tolerated all the swearing and macho posturing up to a point. His mother wasn’t just a classy lady, though; she was tough as nails and she had made it clear to him that there was an invisible line in the sand drawn by her. If JJ crossed it, he’d get an earful from her starting with the words _Justin James_ and ending with that _look_ that told him how monumentally disappointed she was in him. That one-two punch from his mother killed him every time, sent him right back to being six years old and in deep shit for trying to flush his soiled underwear down the toilet. Good lord, he was scared of her. 

At least, JJ consoled himself, he wasn’t like his epically juvenile compatriot across the scrimmage line, Rob Gronkowski, who was making a successful career out of remaining forever fifteen in mind and deed. JJ wasn’t anywhere near that extroverted, but he wasn’t a total hermit either. Sure, his life was pretty much limited to eating, working out, playing football, and sleeping, and he was usually in bed while everyone else was out partying, but he did go to the occasional hoops or hockey game with a lady friend or two and he was also known to hobnob with some celebrities in L.A. once in a while. His teammates considered his lifestyle to be _monastic_ , but what they couldn’t criticize was the fact that he gave his all on the field. 

And the NFL field was veritably soaked in sweat and testosterone, a heady elixir that all the men exuded and breathed in and responded to on a subconscious—perhaps _unconscious_ —level. It was beautiful, and it set JJ’s heart beating a mile a minute to jog out of the locker room into the full heat and sun of summer knowing that he’d be letting loose the rabid beast inside him, unleashing it all onto an equally crazed offensive lineman. It made life so worth living, even if there wasn’t that special someone to share it with at the moment. His hook-ups with Aaron were hot and heavy and fun as all heck, but he knew that it didn’t hold any promise for the future. They would each eventually meet a nice girl, fall in love, get married and settle down to the task of passing on their DNA. JJ figured he should be patient and wait until his playing days were over before he tackled that project. If Derek Jeter could do it all so flawlessly, he could too.

*** 

After practice and a quick shower and change into casual wear, JJ sat in the crowded conference room and took his turn in front of the sports media. He was a pro by now in handling the press. He smiled gamely and answered their questions with good humor and poise, told them exactly what they wanted to hear: I feel great. I’m raring to go. Can’t wait for the season to start. Afterwards, a bunch of the veterans from both teams decided to drive into town to hit a local bar. They were supposed to follow strict rules regarding alcohol and curfews, but who’s going to tell Tom Brady he can’t do whatever the fuck he wants? Who’s going to say no to JJ Watt? Faces were discreetly turned the other way. 

The food at the bar was mostly fried this and that, so the guys who were on 'restricted' diets stuck to beer, ribs, and celery sticks. Tom was drinking red wine and speaking animatedly to a young Asian man, a boy really, sitting in the corner booth next to him. The Gronk was leaning across the table towards them trying to catch their conversation over the noise of the other players getting trashed in the bar. JJ took his beer and double cheeseburger and sauntered over to them, wondering what either of them could possibly be saying to some Asian kid. Did Tom and Giselle adopt a teenager? All three men looked up as JJ approached. 

“Hey,” JJ grunted as he stood next to their table. “What’s the summit meeting about? You fuckers planning on taking over the world or something?” 

Tom smiled his regular 3000-watt smile and drawled, “Sit your ass down, you dumb fuck.” 

“I dunno about any summit meetings,” slurred Rob, spilling his fourth Guinness as he made room for JJ to slide in next to him in the booth, “but Windshield here is sharing the secrets of longevity. It’s all about the broccolini.” 

The boy, who was named Windshield apparently, rolled his dark brown eyes before settling them on JJ’s grey-blue peepers. “That’s me,” Windshield clarified when JJ remained silent with confusion. “My name is actually Winston.” With that he held up the ID card clipped to the lanyard around his neck. JJ leaned forward and read the name: Dr. Winston Liu, MD, Johns Hopkins. 

“Huh.” That was the only sound coming out of JJ’s mouth. He was rarely at a loss for words, but right now things just weren’t making any sense. If this Windshield was actually a Dr. Winston Liu, then why did he look like a mere teenager? He wasn’t exactly child-sized, but he was small for an adult. Then again, most adults would look small sitting next to a trio of pro football players. “How old are you?” JJ suddenly blurted out like it was a life-or-death situation. 

“What?” Winston, Tom, and Rob asked in unison. 

“How old are you?” JJ repeated. 

Winston scowled, brows knitting together, his mouth a flat line drawn with a ruler. “That’s a rather personal question, seeing as you haven’t even introduced yourself to me,” Winston stated. His voice was cold, but his eyes were smiling. 

That threw JJ into deeper confusion. He tried a more polite question. “Okay, how tall are you then? And JJ Watt is asking.” 

The corners of Winston’s mouth dipped down and it made JJ notice the plumpness of his lower lip, its soft pink color, the smooth paleness of his cheeks, and his eyes, so dark and…sparkly…Jesus. He suddenly thought of Rosalie and her full lips and dark eyes and porcelain skin. Then he imagined tossing Winston into the air like a doll, then Winston sitting in his lap, wiggling around… 

Tom groaned as JJ continued to stare across the table with his mouth open and drooling. “Listen, you moron,” he said to JJ, “Winston—Dr. Liu to you—is one of the finest orthopedic surgeons specializing in sports medicine on the east coast. The Mets have him on fucking speed dial. _Noah Syndergaard_ texts him thirty times a day, for Christ’s sake. Isn’t that right, Win?” That got Tom a sweet smile from Dr. Liu. “Win is also kind enough to carve out time to be my nutritionist. And Giselle’s. We eat only what he says we should eat. He knows everything there is to know about optimal caloric intake.” 

“That’s where the broccolini comes in,” chirped Rob. “Get with the program, old man.” He jabbed JJ in the ribs with his elbow and made him spill his beer down his shirt. 

That finally woke JJ up from his dazed state. “What the fuck, dude? Like you’d ever eat broccoli.” 

“ _Broccolini_ , dumbass, not broccoli. Sheesh. Some people.” Rob shook his head in drunken disgust. 

JJ took a big bite of his burger just to get the taste of broccoli or broccolini or whatever it was out of his mouth. “So, _Dr. Liu_ ,” JJ said as he chewed, “should I be eating this burger?” 

Winston took a neat sip of his wine and shrugged, “Sure. What do I care?” Then he excused himself to go talk to some other people. Before he walked away he turned and said to JJ in a perfectly calm voice, “I’m twenty-five and five-eight. Asshole.”

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where I'm going with this story. Like everything I write, I don't work with an outline or plan of any sort. If this sounds like a bad approach, well, it is, but I don't seem to be able to work any other way. Sigh.


	3. Chapter 3

 

The next day, the second and last day of joint practice between the Texans and the Patriots, JJ was still fuming. Tom and Rob weren’t even on the field since New England was trying out rookies and deciding who was going to get cut, so he was left replaying the scenes from yesterday in his mind. That little shit—Windshield or Winston or whatever the fuck his name was—had called him an _asshole_ , he was pretty sure of that, because both Tom and Rob had shot him the evil eye in _agreement_. Then they had both berated him for being rude and stupid. Okay, JJ could accept that assessment from Tom, but from _Rob_? No fucking way! That was so unfair. Even more unfair and infuriating was the fact that he had gone back to his room and beat off in the shower like a goddamn fifteen-year-old loser. He didn’t even know why he was so horny. Maybe it was those dark sparkly eyes, or that plump bottom lip that made him want to lick into his mouth and then devour him like a delicious cream-filled donut. 

Okay. He’d lost it. JJ crouched at the line of scrimmage as the sweat rolled into his eyes. It stung like hell. Somehow, it felt good, so much better than the pain in his gut whenever he thought of ebony-haired what’s-his-name. Maybe he was a fraud, that Dr. Winston Liu. Maybe Mr. I.D. Card really was just a teenager and…wait a minute…shit…did that make JJ a pervert? As much as he wanted to deny it, the fact was he wanted to molest that boy, molest him in ways his mother would surely disapprove of because it was all so undeniably _wrong_. 

*** 

Hours after practice, when he had finished with his second shower and _other things_ in the privacy of his room, JJ called Aaron. He needed to hear his voice and know that the earth was still spinning on its axis. 

“Hey. What’s up?” Aaron said. He sounded tired, even though he would have a day off tomorrow. 

“Nothing,” JJ said. “Just wanted to touch base. How’s camp?” 

“Oh, you know. Good. How ‘bout you?” 

“Great, great. It’s fucking hot here. All this humidity is bad for my hair.” Aaron laughed and it did wonders for JJ’s sanity. “Hey. Miss you.” 

There was a pause and then, “Same here.” 

JJ let the moment linger and then he suggested, “Wanna…you know?” Even though he had only come less than half an hour ago in the shower, he had a room all to himself, so, why not? JJ pushed the towel off his hips as he settled onto his bed and lovingly palmed his cock. He rested his head against the pillow and sighed into the phone. “Are you hard yet?” he asked. 

He heard a choked grunt on the other end and then a faint rustling sound. “Give me a sec,” came Aaron’s reply. “Ah, yeah…getting there… _shit_!” 

“What?” JJ asked. 

“Nothing. Dropped the lotion.” A short pause, followed by a relieved sigh and a rhythmic squelching noise. “Yeah. Talk to me.” 

“What are you wearing?” 

“What am I wearing? Uh, t-shirt, shorts, socks.” 

JJ frowned. “That totally blows. Try harder.” 

Another pause. “Riiight. Okay. Socks. Nothing else. No, wait. Jockstrap…around my ankles.” 

“Fuck! That’s hot. Keep going.” JJ could feel a thin layer of sweat suddenly rise to the surface of his skin. His cock was already plumping nicely in his right fist. 

“Um…I’m fingering myself…” 

“How many?” JJ barked as he stroked himself harder and cupped his balls in his other hand. 

“Two?” Aaron sounded uncertain. “Three?” 

“Make it four,” JJ ordered. “Make it rough. Right up to the knuckles.” 

Aaron groaned deeply, like he was in pain. “Shit. I fucking hate you.” 

“I hate you, too.” JJ couldn’t believe it, he was close already. “I’m fucking your mouth and you’re gagging for me. Fuck. Let me hear you choke on my dick.” 

Aaron swallowed thickly and wiped the drool from his mouth. “You’re in my throat and…no…I’m on the kitchen counter.” 

“What? Kitchen counter?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Aaron mumbles like he’s drunk with lust. “You used butter…just like in _Last Tango in Paris_ …” 

“Okay, you’ve lost me.” 

“Never mind. You’re…on the couch…I’m riding you...” 

“Fuck, yeah,” JJ mutters, barely coherent. “You’re taking my cock like a hungry slut…all the way to the…” JJ came before he could even get the word ‘hilt’ out of his mouth. He heard Aaron coming a second later. The next few moments were just a series of breathy grunts before JJ mumbled, “Good one, dude. I’ll text ya tomorrow.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Winston Liu shared a practice in Baltimore, Maryland at Johns Hopkins Hospital with three other orthopedic specialists. They were considered a ‘boutique’ office catering to pro athletes and wealthy old men who didn’t want to give up weekends on the golf course. The money was more than good; it was _obscene_ , though not as obscene as the dough being raked in by the dermatologist in the next suite of offices Botoxing the shit out of various senators’ wives or the plastic surgeon two floors up handling breast and ass cheek implants. That’s where the _real_ money was, thank you very much, Kim Kardashian wannabes. 

Not that life wasn’t good. It was very good, and Winston was having a grand old time being flown here and there by the MLB, the NFL, the NHL, and the NBA. He was young, granted, considered to be somewhat of a ‘boy genius’ for having finished pre-med, med, and then his residency by the time he was twenty-three. Unlike other abnormally smart people, he wasn’t socially challenged. In fact, he was witty, if not sharp-tongued and, once he had a few glasses of wine in him, he wouldn’t hesitate to get on the dance floor at a wedding or step up to the mic in a karaoke club. His family was from Shanghai and he was fluent in Mandarin and French, but he could sing _Sukiyaki_ in Japanese by heart because he was just that kind of guy. People told him he had a lovely, mellifluous singing voice. Women and men alike told him he was adorable. 

He had completed his studies at Johns Hopkins, in fact, and then spent another year in Switzerland and Beijing, learning everything there was to know about the latest in nutrition and herbal medicine, a personal endeavor that was proving to be just as lucrative as his training in orthopedic surgery. He was lucky that way, lucky in so many ways, except in love. He had known from an early age that he liked girls very much, just not in _that_ way. Girls smelled good, were cute and sweet and were the best friends anyone could ever hope for. But they didn’t make his stomach clench, didn’t turn his world upside down the way cute boys did at first, and then, when he was older, the way someone tall and well-muscled did. He specialized in sports medicine for a reason, and it wasn’t the money that sealed the deal. 

At first he was surprised at just how many pro athletes swung his way. He wasn’t ignorant of the fact that homophobia was rampant in pro sports, at least in America, and he understood why everyone wanted to fly under the radar, why everyone else turned a blind eye. It all made good, convenient sense and he didn’t see any reason to upturn the apple cart. America, after all, was staunchly Puritan after all these centuries. Who was he to judge? 

His last boyfriend had been a barista at a Starbucks in town, the one before that a docent at the aquarium. They were both tall and fair-haired with athletic builds, because that's the way he liked them. He drew the line at patients, however, even if many of them were good-looking and young, and with colleagues, tempting as that was. His friends had given him sage advice, like, "Don't shit where you eat." It wasn't exactly a romantic thought, but it made good sense. 

***

His parents had met thirty years ago when they were both serving their residency at Memorial Sloan Kettering in New York City, his father training to be an oncologist, his mother in pharmacology. They were both first generation immigrants and it was love at first sight. They still both worked and lived in Manhattan, although his mother was thinking of retiring in another five years so she could concentrate on her hobby: painting and calligraphy. Winston’s older brother George was born a year after his parents had met and married. He was now an established cardiologist working at Saint Barnabas Hospital in Livingston, New Jersey. George’s house in nearby Short Hills was a rare mid-century modernist gem. 

Whenever the Mets needed him for an evaluation in New York, Winston made it a point to visit his parents. Tonight, however, they were all in Flushing on a hot and humid August night for non-work-related reasons. Winston’s mother Jun was turning fifty-six and they were in Queens where one could find _authentic_ Chinese cuisine. It didn’t matter that it was in the high eighties with an angry sky outside at seven-fifty in the evening, they were still going to start the celebratory dinner with a steaming pot of soup swimming with creamy chunks of bovine brain. The Asian community had never heard of Mad Cow disease, or didn’t care. 

George was there with his wife Julie, an opthamologist, and their two children, a son named Edison, who was six, and a daughter Saffron, who was four. Conversation revolved around work, as always, and then it settled on Winston’s love life, as always. Winston was used to this and he knew he had it good. He didn’t have to suffer the pressure of being a firstborn son and all the responsibility it entailed. He could go his own way to an extent without engendering too much disapproval. His entire family knew that he wasn’t interested in women _that way_ , although his parents had yet to give up hope that if the _right_ woman came along, he'd finally see the light and get on the proper road to happiness. 

“Winston,” his mother said as the waiter brought a plate of crispy salt and pepper shrimp. “You look thin. Are you unhappy? Hmmm? Did someone break your heart?” 

“What?” Winston patted down his sides. His body felt the same as ever. “I haven’t lost any weight…I don’t think.” 

His mother turned to his father, who was busy digging into the fried tofu stuffed with shrimp. “Professor.” Winston’s mother always called his father ‘Professor’ for some reason. “What do you think? Is our Baby Win too skinny?” 

His father, Wen-Ming, glanced up and declared, “Too skinny. Eat. What girl would want to embrace a stick?” 

Winston shot George a knowing look. Their father had succumbed to that middle-aged spread, on that the siblings could agree. “Okay, Dad. I’ll be sure to hit Dunkin Donuts for breakfast every day.” 

“No, no, not donuts,” his mother chastised. “You need a nice girl to cook for you.” She noticed the stony expression on Winston’s face and backpedaled. “Or a nice boy. Are you having trouble meeting people? I know someone who can—" 

“Mom, I’m fine. I can meet people just fine on my own. I don’t need anyone to set up dates for me.” A pair of grey-blue eyes and impossibly large hands inexplicably popped into his head at that moment, right when the mustard greens and fried carp were brought to the table. Had he really called him an asshole? Why did he do that? The guy had been obnoxious, for sure, but he had also been smoking hot. And he was JJ Watt for Christ’s sake, star defensive end for the Houston Texans, destined for the Football Hall of Fame surely. Winston excused himself and went into the bathroom and threw up.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

The Texans beat the Patriots 27-23 in their Preseason Week 2 match-up back in Houston in late August. The game counted for nothing besides stroking pride and ego but that didn’t diminish the sweetness of victory. The Texans would take any kind of win against Bill Belichick and his charmed team from Massachusetts, even if both sides were playing their backup quarterbacks and rookies. JJ was happy to be back on friendly territory and, as much as he enjoyed all the viciously competitive rounds of four-square back at The Greenbrier in West Virginia during training camp, getting back to Houston meant the season was ramping up for real. Like always, he shook hands with the players on the visiting team before hitting the showers, making sure to chest bump Tom and tease, “Stay healthy, man, because our boy Savage will roll over your boy Garoppolo in a fucking heartbeat.” 

Tom looked JJ up and down with cool appraisal. “Oh, yeah? I’d be more worried about laying off the carbs.” He punched a fist playfully into JJ’s gut. “Looking a little thick and soft around the middle, dough boy, and it ain’t muscle either.” 

“What? I’ll have you know I’m packing only 2% body fat,” declared JJ with the certainty of someone who has no clue if that was true or not. He was ready to rip into Tom for his latest unflattering buzzcut when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of ebony hair amidst the seething mass of bodies on the sidelines. A turn of the head made JJ’s stomach twist into a painful knot. “What the fuck is _he_ doing here?” 

Tom glanced to his right and waved. Winston waved back. “He’s my guest, you shithead. Win is traveling with me until the season starts. He’s my ticket to physical perfection. If I were you, I’d think about getting a nutritionist yourself. That year off has obviously taken its toll. Later.” With that, Tom turned on his heels toward Winston, put an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders, and disappeared into the bowels of the stadium. 

JJ stared after them for a moment. He was pissed to high heaven. The Texans had won a meaningless preseason game and that little stuck-up snob of a doctor hadn’t even bothered to say hello to him.

*** 

After the requisite press interviews, JJ joined the guys for a celebratory dinner at a local sports bar. The mood was upbeat and loose but after five beers, two helpings of extra spicy hot wings, and a fried jalapeno topped burger, JJ called it a night and headed home to his modest apartment in Houston. The night was early but his stomach was upset. It wasn’t from the junk food. That’s where the guilt came into play, all thanks to that snarky comment from Tom about his flabby body. His body wasn’t flabby, goddamn it! No, JJ was depressed, despite the win, despite the camaraderie shared with some of his favorite people at dinner. He called his parents like he always did after a game, sent out a few inane tweets, and then he crawled into bed to console himself with a new episode of Game of Thrones. His phone kept dinging on the night table but he ignored it until the show had ended and the preview for the next episode had him wondering what the hell was really going to happen in the season finale. JJ picked up his phone and saw that he had forty-three new messages. With a heavy sigh, he began scrolling through the various idiotic texts from friends and family and teammates. 

There was one from Aaron that made him smile: congrats [+ thumbs up emoji]

He texted Aaron back: thanx [+ poo emoji] 

Towards the bottom he saw one from Tom: winston says hi asshole [+ middle finger raised emoji]. 

And then, just like that, all thoughts about White Walkers and Cersei’s tits flew out of JJ’s mind, replaced by something close to wild, unbounded joy. 

He immediately texted Tom back: FU and dr no

Then: give me his # 

Tom texted back: win says why + FU2 + RU a stalker? 

 _What?_ Stalking was for creeps and JJ was no creep. Winston’s false implication—more like an _accusation_ —made JJ mad, so mad he impulsively whipped his phone across the room, denting the drywall and missing the TV by mere inches. 

“Now look what you made me do!” JJ shouted at the air. He jumped out of bed and sprinted across to his phone. The thick rubber case had protected the back and sides, but the screen was now cracked. “Goddamn fucking…” He ran his finger across the crazed glass and—phew!—the thing was still working. 

He was breathing hard as he quickly texted Tom back: if U give me his # i will make nice scouts honor 

JJ stared at his phone for the next eight minutes and then it rang. 

“What do you want?” came Winston’s bored voice. 

“Uh.” JJ was caught off-guard and fumbling the ball like a total spaz. “Nothing. Just. Just thought I’d say hi…because I’m a great dude…and…you were too fucking rude to even—" The call went dead. “That little shit hung up on me!” JJ shouted at the air again. He was ready to toss his phone into the other corner of the room except he looked at the cracked screen and saw that it wasn’t Tom’s number showing. Winston must have called him from his own phone and now JJ had his number. He chuckled to himself. “I’ve got you now, you beautiful bastard.” 

*** 

JJ waited almost two weeks before he worked up the nerve to text Winston. The surge of smug confidence he felt after adding Winston’s phone number to his contacts list had dissipated seconds later when Tom called him and told him to stop harassing his personal diet guru. 

“Don’t fuck with my boy, JJ, or I swear I’ll sic Giselle on you!” threatened Tom. He sounded like he really meant it too. “She will tear another hole into you so big you’ll be able to park your F-150 _and_ your stupid ATV up your ass. It won’t be as pretty as the Grand Canyon either.” No doubt about that. Giselle was a fierce woman and even though she was Tom’s wife and not his, there was no way in hell JJ would cross her. 

JJ might not have contacted Winston at all if it weren’t for his conversation with Aaron during the last week in August. It started out as a perfectly routine Wednesday night phone sex call. Aaron was in his hotel room in Los Angeles* before the Packers’ Thursday game against the Rams and JJ was in a hotel room in Arlington. The Texans were supposed to host the Cowboys in their final preseason game, but Hurricane Harvey had turned Houston into a gigantic lake. The night before a game day was their usual time for some mutual tension relief because they weren’t just lovers out of convenience, they were best bros at heart and they had each other’s backs. 

“Spank the shit out of that monkey!” JJ ordered between clenched teeth. He was stripping his own cock like a pro and picturing Aaron impaled reverse cowboy on his dick, Aaron’s balls jiggling wildly as JJ gripped firmly underneath Aaron’s knees and bounced him up and down in his lap like a mail order sex doll. “Fuck! You’re taking it like such a greedy little whore.” 

Aaron moaned loudly over the phone. “You sick son-of-a-bitch. Fuck me harder, you goddamn pussy. Fuck me like you mean it!” 

“Hands and knees, motherfucker! I’m splitting you in two. Let me hear how it hurts!” In JJ’s mind, he’s pounding between Aaron’s delectable ass cheeks, one hand digging into his hip, his other hand shoving Aaron’s face into the mattress. 

“Yeah, fuck, it hurts like all fuck…oh…Jesus…I’m c-coming… _fuck meee_!” 

Well, that did it for JJ, too, hearing Aaron’s sweet stuttering garbled voice always pushed him right over the edge. He made a mess of his University of Wisconsin Badgers jersey and, once he recovered his breath, he pulled it over his head and wiped himself off with it, too lazy to go to the bathroom for a towel. “Shit, that was sweet,” JJ muttered. “Was it good for you, too, honey?” 

“Fuck you,” Aaron groaned. There was a soft suckling noise and then Aaron said, “Hmmm…yum.” 

“What are you doing?” asked JJ. “Are you eating in bed?” 

“Sorta. Just…you know…tasting myself.” 

“Ah, gross. That is fucking gross. When did you start drinking your own cum?” JJ sat up and scratched the back of his head, pressed his soiled jersey to his nose and inhaled cautiously before retching at the sharp odor of ammonia and tossing the shirt to the floor. 

“I’m not drinking it, you idiot,” Aaron explained, “I’m just appreciating the difference. You know I’ve been on this new diet regimen for a while now and I’m really noticing a change. I don’t just feel great, my cum is all different…like it smells and tastes good now. You’ll have to swallow the next time we see each other.” 

“Uh…probably not gonna happen.” 

“Suit yourself. That Windex is a miracle worker though.” 

“Windex? Are we talking about kitchen cleaners now?” 

“No, no. My nutritionist. He’s amazing.” 

The hairs at the back of JJ's neck stood to attention. “Your nutritionist is named Windex? That’s weird, because the Gronk calls Brady’s nutritionist Windshield and—" 

“Oh, yeah,” Aaron interrupted. “Same guy. Winston. Winston Liu. I call him Windex because he’s so squeaky clean and shiny and it’s kind of a riff on his name—" 

This time JJ interrupted. “Hold the fuck up. You and Tom…you both…what the fuck is going on?” JJ was sputtering in total disbelief. 

“What? Tom turned me onto him after my injury last year. So what? Tom’s in amazing shape and I wanted to improve my own health situation. You knew all that.” 

“No, but, Winston Liu? He’s actually a real doctor?” 

“Well, yeah.” Aaron was getting defensive. “He happens to be one of the best orthopedic surgeons—" 

“—on the east coast,” JJ finished for him. “Yeah, yeah, that’s what Tom said. I just didn’t think this guy was for real, that’s all.” 

“Why not?” 

“Have you seen him? I mean, he looks like he’s fifteen.” 

“Yeah. But he’s not. He’s totally legal, age-wise, and I’d totally hit that sweet ass of his. That Windex is a beauty.” 

JJ’s heart stopped for various reasons. On one level, he was shocked to hear Aaron say he’d jump Winston’s bones. On another level, he felt like a shameless pervert for wanting to do the very same thing. But, in the end, what bobbed to the surface like a dead turtle on a lake was pure, unmitigated jealousy and desperation. How could Aaron have been enjoying nutritional advice from Dr. Winston Liu while all along JJ had been in the dark about improving his own body and cum? And now his very own best bro was unknowingly in competition with him for someone who wouldn’t even give JJ the time of day. Goddamn that Tom for introducing that man-child to Aaron. Most of all, goddamn that Winston. Goddamn his silky hair and dark eyes and pouty lip and snarky attitude. Tom had him on retainer practically and Aaron was already on a pet name basis with him. Now that he knew what he was up against, it made JJ all the more determined. He was going to get to know Winston whether Winston liked it or not, and he was going to get to know him _intimately_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Actually, the Green Bay Packers played the LA Rams at Lambeau Field in Wisconsin. I read the schedule incorrectly. Sorry about that.


	6. Chapter 6

 

Winston saw the text when he returned to his office after replacing a patella on a sixty-three year old senator known to be tight with the Wall Street financiers. The guy had complained that his trick knee was negatively impacting his golf game. His substantial spare tire had nothing to do with his pathetic swing of course. Could he, Dr. Liu, pop in a shiny new one? Thank you, tax payer dollars! 

All during the surgery, Winston had thought about poor Julian Edelman, out for the entire season with a torn ACL suffered during a non-contact play against the Detroit Lions in a stupid preseason game. Both Tom and Julian had been heartbroken and Winston couldn’t decide if it was the _preseason_ or the _non-contact_ aspect of the injury that hurt the most. Julian was Tom’s go-to wide receiver and now Danny Amendola would have to shoulder the weight. Rob Gronkowski could be relied upon to be…the Gronk, star tight end and all-around boozehound. Rob and Tom. Tom and Rob. Winston was glad to be back in Baltimore and away from those two. Tom’s spectacularly handsome movie idol looks and the Gronk’s irresistible frat boy personality encased in a titan’s body were too much to take. It was really unbecoming and frustrating—and physically painful—for Winston to pretend that he wasn’t sporting an erection in his pants when he was around either of them. The text, though, only made Winston annoyed. 

tom says im flabby [+ frowny face emoji] can u help me with a diet plan? 

Winston stared at his phone, anger rising up his neck and bleeding into his face. What _right_ did that insufferable JJ Watt have—to text him like this and ask for a favor? He barely knew the guy, even though he knew _of_ him. Who didn’t? One would have to have been living under a rock for the past five years. And then it happened. Creeping unbidden into his mind were a pair of grey-blue eyes and a massive frame…and those ridiculously meaty biceps. Shit. Winston swallowed guiltily when he recalled another small detail: he had beat off four or five times thinking about those eyes and arms over the past several weeks, ever since he had met that humungous idiot at that bar in West Virginia. 

He sighed with resignation and texted back: didnt i call you an asshole? 

It took only ten seconds for JJ to reply: yeah so what? 

Hmm. Winston’s assistant Marilyn knocked on the door and brought him the files for the next day’s scheduled surgery. Winston sat down at his desk and opened the manila folder and scanned the sheets: a hip replacement on an eighty-six year old woman. Easy as pie. Then he looked at his phone again. He decided it would be best to follow the sage advice from his friends. 

He texted: i don’t shit where i eat

*** 

JJ turned to Clay Matthews and nudged the Green Bay linebacker. They were both sitting on some truck tires in a studio in Los Angeles shooting a Gatorade commercial in the short lull at the end of the preseason. It was a Tuesday. The football season would kick off for real on Thursday, even though both of their teams wouldn’t actually play until Sunday. As the lighting and soundmen made adjustments around them, the two men passed the time on their phones. Clay was watching previews of season three of _Outlander_ to JJ’s undisguised contempt. 

“I can’t believe you watch that crap,” JJ sneered. “Don’t you know that’s for _girls_?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know it. But Casey loves this show and she likes to talk to me about it. I gotta keep up with her. You know what they say: happy wife, happy life.” 

Why did Clay have to be such an _intellectual_ about everything, philosophizing like that? “Yeah? And do you wear little lace panties for her, too?” 

That got Clay’s attention big time. He stared wide-eyed and surprised at JJ, and then he nodded slowly, fingers scratching thoughtfully at his heavy chin. “That might work for her…yeah…sounds like a good anniversary plan to me. Thanks, dude.” 

“Jesus, you sick fuck. Hey, take a look at this.” JJ showed him his phone with Winston’s text. “What do you make of this? Like, what does it mean: I don’t shit where I eat? I mean, c’mon. Who does that?” 

“Uh…I’ve had a sandwich or two on the can,” Clay readily admitted. “What? Don’t give me that look. Sometimes I’m really busy and I have to optimize my time.” 

“Dude, I did _not_ need to hear that.” 

“You asked. Here, lemme see.” Clay looked over the texts and scrunched up his face in confusion. “I don’t get it. Are you stalking this guy or something? And is this Aaron’s guy? Windex?” 

“What? Fuck no! Why does everyone think I’m stalking him?” 

“Who’s everyone? And are you?” 

“Forget it, man. I’ll figure this out myself.” 

“Whatever.” Clay went back to watching his _Outlander_ previews, muttering, “They must use CGI or something. No one’s as hot as that Jamie in real life.” 

JJ glanced at Clay’s phone and, yeah, that kilt-wearing Jamie was pretty darn good-looking by anyone’s standards, but right now JJ had someone dark-haired and slender on his mind. _I don’t shit where I eat. I don’t shit where I eat. Sandwiches on the can. Sandwiches on the can_. Christ. With a shake of the head, JJ started mashing his phone: 

im a classy guy so no sandwiches on the can 

Then, before he could continue his brilliant train of thought, his fat thumb hit the 'send' button accidentally. “Ah, fuck me!” JJ groaned as he slapped his own forehead. His mind was racing to come up with some kind of witty explanation, but before he could text anything further he received the following from Winston: 

good for u! should i be impressed? 

“Fuck this bullshit,” JJ mumbled to himself. He stood up and walked to a quiet corner of the studio and dialed Winston’s number. 

“What is it now?” came Winston’s voice, as bored sounding as the last time. “Were you expecting to hear…oh, I don’t know…applause?” 

“Cut the crap, Winston, or Windex, or Windshield, or whatever the fuck—" 

“It’s _Dr. Liu_ ,” Winston interrupted, “and I believe I detect a marked obsession with food and perhaps an anal fixation complicated by control issues?” There was a slight pause, and then the kicker, “Were you a bed wetter as a child, Mr. Watt?” 

JJ felt like a giant deflated Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade turkey balloon. How could Winston have known about the bedwetting? Was he psychic or something? 

“I…I was just hoping we could get together sometime,” JJ said stiffly. All the wind had been taken out of his sails and it was an odd feeling to have. It made him suddenly realize that, beneath all his bulk and brawn, he just might be vulnerable. Well, JJ thought ruefully, as long as he was already on his knees, he might as well expose his throat. “I was thinking the next time I’m out by you, or if you’re out by me, maybe we could sit down to a nice meal and you could give me some…uh…nutritional advice. My treat, of course.” JJ cleared his throat and plowed on. “You come really highly recommended. I don’t know if you know this, but you worked with a good friend of mine last year. Aaron Rodgers?” 

There was an audible gasp of breath over the phone, and then Winston said in a much friendlier tone, “Yes, of course…Aaron. Yes, well, he’s just wonderful. So disciplined, so sharp-minded, too, and so funny and cultured and sweet. He was just a pleasure to work with in every way. You couldn’t ask for a better man.” There was an awkward pause, and then Winston asked, “So, how is he?” 

By now, JJ was seething with jealousy over all that gushing praise heaped onto Aaron when the nicest thing Winston could say to him was _asshole_ and _bed wetter_ or worse. JJ found himself unable to keep the words from spewing out of his mouth. “Who? Rodgers? He’s fucking _fine_ and _dandy_. But of course he would be. He had _you_  telling him how to make his cum taste good enough to drink. Yeah, that’s right, _Dr. Liu_. He’s drinking _gallons_ of his cum and _loving_ it, all thanks to you! Does that make you happy? Are you proud of yourself now?” 

JJ happened to look up at that point and saw Clay staring at him slack-jawed across the eerily quiet studio. The crew had stopped working in order to gawk at him. Oops. “Was I just yelling?” JJ mouthed to Clay. Clay nodded a very emphatic  _yes_. “Ah, shit,” JJ muttered under his breath. He turned to face the wall and kept his voice low. “Listen, Winston, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened there, I really don’t. I’m not like this, you gotta believe me. I’m not this crazy person, okay? I play football and it’s all about being passionate about what you do. You can understand that, right? There’s nothing wrong with giving ten thousand percent, right? I’m sure _you_ give ten thousand percent when you’re chopping up limbs in the OR. So it’s all good, we’re all good here, everyone's on the same page. Uh…Winston? Are you still there?” 

“Yes, JJ.” 

“So, you heard what I said?” 

“Which part? The part about Aaron drinking his cum because of me?” 

“Uh…no…the part about me being…you know…sorry.” Winston sighed loudly into the phone but said nothing. JJ decided that this would be as good a time as any to grab the bull by the horns. “So…can I take that as a _yes_ on us getting together for dinner some time?” 

After a very long and uncomfortable moment of silence, Winston said, “Perhaps.” 

The call went dead. “I can’t believe that little shit hung up on me _again_ ,” mumbled JJ. 

Then the director entered the studio and JJ and Clay were sprayed with a water bottle by the makeup woman and they got down to the business of looking sweaty and drinking Gatorade on camera. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

By the time Winston actually had dinner with JJ, JJ had attained sainthood for all the fundraising he did in the aftermath of Hurricane Harvey. They were in a steakhouse in Boston and JJ was telling Winston about the ten semi trucks full of diapers, bottled water, food, and clothing that he and his Texans teammates had brought into Houston to help the flood victims of that storm ravaged city. Winston wouldn’t begrudge the man some genuine admiration for his humanitarian efforts and JJ was equally sincere in his appreciation for that rare complimentary word from Winston. He hadn’t called JJ an asshole even once over dinner so far.

“So, uh, enough about me,” JJ said. “What have you been up to? Chopped up any knees lately?” He sliced a nice, juicy rare chunk off of his rib eye and savored the bloody goodness. JJ was in Massachusetts for a game against the New England Patriots.

“Knees, yes. Chopping, no,” Winston replied, in town for a postoperative evaluation of Julian Edelman’s repaired ACL. He dipped his piece of steamed lobster into the ramekin of extra virgin olive oil seasoned with fresh lemon juice, cracked black pepper, and sea salt and chewed politely. Then he took a sip of his Sauvignon blanc, not feeling the least bit guilty. His father had called him a ‘stick’ not too long ago so he figured it was time to gain a pound or two. The restaurant had a decent wine list and he thought he might sample a Viognier from the Côtes du Rhône next. He glanced surreptitiously over his wine glass at the flesh colored Hulk sitting across the table from him and felt an electric tingle run down his spine. Yeah, that JJ Watt was freaking _hot_.

“Red meat is good for the kind of calorie-burning you do,” Winston told JJ. “It’s efficient, but I’d choose a leaner protein, perhaps a flank steak or a filet, or even a sirloin if you want to splurge. I’d lay off the rib eye.”

JJ looked down at his two-inch thick slab of beefy heaven on the bone. “Yeah, I could do a filet. With butter melting on top.”

Winston actually smiled back at him. “You have good taste, Mr. Watt.”

“Oh? You approve of my meat and dairy choices?”

“I can’t comment on the dairy,” Winston demurred. “I’m lactose intolerant…being Asian and all.”

“Lactose intolerant? You mean…you can’t eat _cheese_?” asked JJ in horror.

“No cheese, no milk, no ice cream.”

“Fucking hell...” JJ stammered. “How do you live?”

“I live just fine.” Winston put a forkful of his arugula salad in his mouth and chewed quietly. “In the future, you might want to ask for steamed or sautéed broccoli instead of that iceberg lettuce,” he commented. “Iceberg lettuce is a waste of time.”

“Don’t you mean _broccolini_ , Dr. Liu?” JJ snarked.

“Most restaurants don’t have broccolini on the menu,” Winston told him. “But get it if you can.”

When it came time for dessert, JJ couldn’t resist the deconstructed s’mores, listed on the menu as the ‘Tower of Decadence.’ The cheesecake or even the chocolate mousse would have been a better choice, but Winston figured JJ had earned the indulgence for his charitable efforts on behalf of the displaced residents of Houston. He sipped his double espresso as JJ savored the gooey mess.

“Are you sure you don’t want a bite of this?” asked JJ. He leaned forward and held out a forkful, waving it in a lazy circle. “It’s really good.”

Winston sat back in his chair and idly smoothed the starched linen tablecloth with his fingertips. “No, thank you. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth,” he confessed. “I prefer…salty things.” He watched JJ withdraw the fork and put the rich dessert into his own mouth, chew and swallow, watched the muscles of his jaw and neck flex and contract under the tanned skin. This was bad. Winston had accepted the dinner invitation just to satisfy his curiosity about a man who had been both incredibly rude and charming at the same time, a man with a volatile temper and the unfiltered honesty of a small child. Only JJ wasn’t a small child; he was a ridiculously large, spectacularly muscular _demigod_ who wouldn’t be out of place stomping through the halls of Valhalla alongside that Clay Matthews. On an even more disturbing note, Winston couldn’t deny the simple fact that he’d popped a boner for JJ as soon as they had sat down to dinner. He’d been hiding the sight of his bulging crotch under the tablecloth the entire time and was getting a little worried. Once the meal was over…

“Would you excuse me?” Winston said. “I’m going to go wash my hands.” He buttoned his suit jacket and held the napkin in front of himself as he stood up and walked casually to the men’s room in the back. JJ had only given him a cursory nod before diving back into his dessert, so far, so good. When he stepped inside the white marbled bathroom, he saw to his dismay that both stalls were occupied. Okay, on to Plan B. He washed his hands, splashed some cold water on his face, and breathed a sigh of relief as his hard-on subsided. Then he emptied his bladder, washed his hands again, and splashed some more cold water onto his face.

“Get a grip, Winston,” he told himself in the mirror. “Don’t fixate. There are plenty of other fish in the sea.” He straightened his tie, ran a hand through his hair, and went back out into the dining room. JJ had a worried look on his face.

“Are you okay?” JJ asked. “I was starting to wonder if you’d left without saying goodbye.”

“I’m sorry. I had to throw up my dinner,” Winston deadpanned. “It’s how I stay so slim.”

JJ looked mortified.

“Just kidding! Don’t tell me—"

“No. I knew you weren’t…whatever.” JJ shook his head. “Listen, where are you staying?”

“The Langham. I always stay there when I’m in Boston. Why?”

“I was thinking we could hang out at the bar and have a drink. They have a bar, right?”

“Um, yes, but—"

“Let’s go. C’mon. I’ve already taken care of the check.”

JJ stood up and, well, Winston didn’t want to be rude after he’d just enjoyed a pricey meal, so he followed JJ outside and they took a cab to the hotel. They sat at the bar doing shots of bourbon, both of them getting progressively drunker as they traded top five lists.

“ _Die Hard_ , _Predator_ , _Aliens_ , _Tremors_ , _Dr. No,_ ” JJ rattled off.

“ _Annie Hall_ , _2001: A Space Odyssey_ , _Alien_ , _The Fifth Element_ , _Thunderball,_ ” Winston replied.

“ _Thunderball_ , eh?” JJ grinned and ordered another shot. “Yeah, I can see why you might go for that one.”

“I like redheads,” Winston insisted. “You didn’t think she was pretty?”

“The redhead? Yeah, she was pretty.” JJ downed his shot. He was feeling mighty brave. “You know… _I’m_ sort of a redhead…kind of like...a strawberry blond, don’t you think?”

Winston’s face was burning, either from the bourbon or from spiraling-out-of-control lust. He laughed. It was either that or hide under a barstool. “No, I—"

“Oh, c’mon. Give me _something_. I’m trying to play nice here.”

“Are you flirting with me, Mr. Watt?” Winston couldn’t believe he just said that. He wanted to kick himself but he doubted it would prevent further embarrassment; he was so fucking plastered.

“I’m trying…trying real hard. Are you feeling me?” JJ leaned close to Winston and gave in to the urge to breathe him in. “Goddamn. You smell really…really…really good. I could just eat you up.”

Well, that did it. Any doubts about JJ's intentions were now laid to rest. Winston gulped and said, “Do you want to…come up to my room?”

JJ didn’t wait to get to Winston’s eighth floor suite. He was all over him in the elevator, kissing into him like Winston was his last meal _ever_. “Fuck! Hmmm,” JJ groaned. Then he remembered that hotels had security cameras and he quickly pulled away, keeping his head down.

Winston wiped his chin and asked, “What?”

“Security cameras,” JJ muttered, head still down.

“Oh.” Winston conducted a thorough visual sweep of the compartment. “It’s okay. No camera.”

“Thank the fuck god.” There had been a pro player caught on camera beating his girlfriend and then dragging her into the elevator not that long ago, and then there was the infamous smackdown between Jay-Z and Solange Knowles in the elevator. Elevators were to be avoided if one planned on engaging in assault.

They exited the elevator and walked nonchalantly down the hallway, then got back down to business after Winston swiped the keycard and closed the door behind them. JJ had Winston’s bespoke suit torn off his body in record time. He stripped off his own clothes and then they both fell on the bed, pawing and biting at each other like two crazed animals in heat.

“You want me, right?” JJ panted.

Winston was flabbergasted. “Would I be doing this if I didn’t?”

“It’s just that, well, you’ve called me an asshole, like, three or four times and—"

“Will you just shut up and fuck me?”

“Uh, okay, can do.”

Winston reached for his discarded trousers, pulled a condom from a pocket and tossed it to JJ. “Here, put this on.” He disappeared into the bathroom and then reappeared holding a small tube of hotel body lotion. “Guess we’ll have to use this.” He flipped the lid open and took a sniff. “Smells good, kind of lemony.”

JJ sat on the bed, back against the headrest, while Winston straddled him.

“You’ve done this before, right?” asked JJ.

“Yes, Mr. Watt. Many times.” Winston positioned himself over JJ’s cock and noticed the concern clouding JJ’s face. “What’s the matter? Am I your first?”

“No," JJ frowned. "Listen, you're so little and...I’m not going to hurt you, am I?”

Winston laughed and then smirked, “Don’t fucking flatter yourself. I’ve had much bigger.”

“Shit,” JJ muttered. “You are such a—" JJ forgot what he was going to say as he watched Winston lower himself onto his dick in one slow movement. “Ah…fucking mother of god…"

When Winston was seated fully on him, JJ pulled him close and kissed him long and deep, sucked his tongue into his mouth and bit softly on his plump lower lip. Then he nipped down his neck and licked at his nipples. Winston moaned and started moving rhythmically in his lap, undulating his hips in a way that drove JJ mad with desire.

“Fuck, yeah,” JJ groaned. “You’re fucking amazing.”

Winston was small and perfect, his skin flawless and pale and smooth, and he was making the most obscenely glorious noises as he fucked himself on JJ’s cock.

“God, you’re so hot…so tight…” JJ grunted. “I’m not gonna last if you keep moving like that.”

Winston grabbed JJ’s hand and placed it on his cock. “I-I’m almost there,” he stuttered. “I’m really close. Fuck. Make me come with you.”

It took only eight strokes and then Winston was shaking apart and spurting all over JJ’s chest as JJ unloaded inside him with a shudder.

“You know I won’t be able to give you any more dietary advice,” Winston panted after some moments.

“Why not?” JJ panted back.

“I told you already. I don’t shit where I eat.”

JJ blinked back at him. “What does that have to do with…? Oh…I get it. So, does that mean we can do this again? No dietary advice. Just the fucking.”

“Yeah,” Winston said. “Just the fucking.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

JJ knew he was in trouble when he came away from the Sunday night game against the Patriots without recording a single meaningful sack or tackle. Why? He was too busy thinking of new ways to molest Winston. His mouth had watered as he crouched at the line of scrimmage and thought, “Next time.” Next time he was going to put that lovely cock against his lips, lick a hot, wet trail along its length from balls to head and tongue-lash that ebony-haired _Dr. Liu_ to screaming ecstasy. After the game, Coach O’Brien took JJ aside in the locker room and gave him an earful about his crummy performance. 

“You embarrassed yourself out there, Watt” Coach growled, finger in JJ’s face. “You know the rest of the guys look up to you and you let them down tonight. Whatever it is that’s got you shoving your own head up your ass, you better fix it. _Now_.” 

On the flight back to Houston, he received a text from Winston: wow u sucked.

JJ texted back: all ur fault asshole! 

When Winston didn’t reply, JJ’s satisfaction in calling Winston the asshole for once didn’t taste so sweet. Shit. Had he blown it already? Coach was pissed at him, rightly so, and he had no legitimate excuse for phoning it in against Tom Brady & Co. JJ prided himself on being a consummate pro and pros didn’t let their personal lives interfere with the game. The ones that did…well, those were the ones who had very short careers and JJ had every intention of _earning_ every penny of his massive contract and making the most out of his brief time in the limelight. Fame was fifteen minutes long, as Andy Warhol had said, and it was all too true. He couldn’t let this latest obsession ruin his life. 

Two seconds later, though, his head was swimming with memories from the night before of his hands around a slender waist, a waist so slender he could almost get his long fingers around it completely, of a body pale, smooth, and lean straining in his lap, of the sweetest moans coming from soft bitten lips as Winston rode him to orgasm. JJ wanted to tear into him like a Christmas present, pound his face into the sheets, grab his ankles and pin him down, mess him up all night long. And he would have if it hadn’t been for curfew on a night before a game. He had gone back to the team’s hotel right before final room checks and then called Aaron. As a star player, JJ enjoyed the benefit of having a single room and privacy to do whatever he wanted without the prying eyes of a roommate. Aaron, of course, enjoyed the same perks.

“Hey.” Aaron was in a chipper mood. “Did you see I’m still ranked top QB?” 

“Yeah. Good for you.” JJ wasn’t quite so chipper. He felt deeply unsatisfied, as if a meal had been taken away before he was done eating. And, indeed, that first coupling, so fast and furious, seemed like a mere appetizer and now he was starving for the main course. Starving, goddamn it! 

Aaron must have heard the frustration in JJ’s voice because he soothed, “Aw, c’mon, bro. The season’s early. You’ve had worse starts. And, look, even the Patriots lost to the Chiefs in game one, after all that talk about a perfect season for them. So…don’t feel bad if you get your ass kicked tomorrow.” When JJ didn’t respond, Aaron went all tough love on him. “Face it, JJ. The Texans suck, with or without you. I don’t care what they say about defense. It’s complete bullshit ‘cause the only thing that matters is offense. Without offense, you got nothing, and the Texans have zero offense, everyone knows that. You don’t even have a QB who can blah blah blah…” 

JJ wasn’t even listening, and this was _Aaron_ talking, not that he needed Aaron to tell him how badly his team sucked. Normally, JJ would be fuming about the earlier loss to the Jaguars without any prodding. He had always lived for the game and winning was everything and fought for at all costs. But now something else had crept inside his brain and hijacked his waking hours, hours that used to be devoted solely to the love of football. That something had a face he couldn’t get out of his head now—a face, a name, a taste, a scent—and it had nothing to do with the sweating, swearing three hundred pound guard or tackle across the line of scrimmage. JJ knew he needed to screw his own head back on straight or he would be up the creek in the game tomorrow. Phone sex with Aaron usually did the trick of clearing his mind so he could focus on what needed to be done on the gridiron but, tonight, even Aaron couldn’t get him back on track. 

“So,” Aaron prodded, “do you want to start or do you want me to…uh…get the ball the rolling?” 

“Why don’t you start?” JJ said glumly as he took his cock out of his pants. This was so fucking depressing, he wondered if he’d even be able to get it up. Aaron’s voice over the phone seemed…wrong. It was too deep, too rough around the edges. He didn’t sound at all like… 

“…licking my cock like a Bomb Pop—" 

“Wait,” JJ interrupted. “What flavor?” 

“What flavor? I dunno,” said Aaron, sounding more than a little annoyed. “How about cherry?” 

“Mmm…make it blue raspberry,” JJ said as he gave his limp cock another half-hearted tug. 

“Fine. Blue raspberry. Sheesh. Are you even hard?” asked Aaron. 

JJ sighed. That Aaron. “Do you have ESP or something?” 

“What’s ESP gotta do with…? You’re not even into this, are you?” Aaron accused. “Or did you beat off ten times already without me?” 

“Ten times? What are you talking about? I only came once before…um…I called you.” 

“So what’s the problem?” Aaron gave an angry grunt. “Why did you even call me if you didn’t want to do this?” 

“Because, man, it’s what we do.” 

“So, fine. Are we doing this or not?” 

“Yeah, you know,” JJ mumbled, “I’m really tired and…my cock is just lying there like a big fat slug.” 

“Are you sure you don’t mean a tiny shriveled worm?” Aaron snickered. 

“Fuck you, Mr. Rodgers.” 

“Fuck you, too, Mr. Watt.” 

JJ shut his phone off and put it on the night table. Well, that wasn't much of a success. It was late and he really was tired. Then he picked up his phone and called Winston.

“What’s wrong?” Winston asked. He sounded half asleep. 

“Nothing. I-I just wanted to say good night and—" 

“Good night,” Winston said. 

The call went dead but it was enough to make JJ smile just to hear his voice, that soft snarky voice. He wrapped his hand around his cock and let Winston’s voice snake into his ears and down his spine and…five minutes later his hand was wet and sticky and JJ could finally go to sleep. The next day, the Patriots rolled over the Texans and JJ wanted to care, he really did, but something small and perfect had found his Achilles’ heel and was laying him low. Funny thing was, he had never felt happier—and more fucked up—in his entire life.

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

JJ had wanted to bang him _vigorously_ , but the limited confines of Winston’s rental car prohibited such activity, so they had settled for a quick handjob instead. They hadn’t seen each other in over a month—a recipe for aching balls if one was young, horny, and _in love_ , even if Winston had yet to admit to such a silly notion and JJ didn’t even have the will to deny it. It was early October and Winston was in Seattle to observe a new surgical procedure at the Swedish Orthopedic Institute and JJ was in town to play the Seahawks. Between the start of JJ’s practice and drills and Winston’s scheduled training session, they had twenty minutes to spare, so they met up in the parking lot of CenturyLink Field and crawled into the backseat of Winston’s rented Audi sedan. It was too cramped to allow for even a decent blowjob; thus followed some mutual carrot waxing. JJ had been a tad bit _enthusiastic_. 

“I think you broke my dick.” Winston gingerly touched his cock to make sure it was still attached to his body. 

“What’d ya mean?” JJ nestled back against the headrest and sighed. “Shit. You’ve got great hands. You really know how to…fuck…you’ve got magic hands.” He thought of Rosalie’s wonderful hands and decided that Winston’s were just as adept at getting him off in record time. JJ’s own left hand was still wrapped and taped up from the injury* he suffered to his ring finger in the game against the Bengals weeks ago. 

Winston rolled his head against JJ’s arm and grimaced. “Yeah, well, you could go a little easier. My cock is made of flesh and blood, dummy. You’re not stripping a piece of wood.” 

“Ha ha…wood…” chuckled JJ. 

“My God, how old are you?” Winston peered down at his own body to make sure his cock hadn’t turned a disturbing shade of purple. Then he glanced over at JJ and groaned in disgust at their cum splattered chests. Sex between two guys was just fucking gross no matter how you looked at it, Winston mused to himself. Still, jerking each other off was less messy than…the other thing. It didn’t help that Winston was practically OCD about cleanliness, a carryover from his medical training. “I so need to take a shower.” 

At that, JJ leaned over and licked Winston’s chest clean. “Wow, you taste good. I could drink this for breakfast.” 

“Ugh!” Winston pushed JJ aside and pulled up his badly wrinkled trousers. “Shit. I’m going to be late,” he mumbled as he glanced at his watch. He quickly buttoned up his equally wrinkled shirt. “Those Swedes are sticklers for punctuality...not as bad as the Swiss, though. The Swiss would hang me if I—” 

“Hey,” JJ interrupted. He caught Winston’s chin between thumb and forefinger and gazed into his dark eyes. “You know…you’re really something.”

“Right,” Winston said. He was anxious to conclude this latest tryst and not ready to face his own feelings, feelings that were rapidly gaining in strength like a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico. He tucked in his shirt and zipped up, refastened his belt. JJ wasn’t even moving, his cock still out and semi-rigid on his firm abs. Winston was tempted to bend down and take it into his mouth, it looked so _juicy_ and he had wanted so much more than what they had just done. Goddamn it. Why did JJ have to be so fucking irresistible? 

Winston ran a hand through his hair and then adjusted his tie. “How do I look?”

“Like you need to be drilled nice and deep. Next time,” JJ said, his voice low and oh so sexy, “I’m gonna fuck you _properly_.” 

Winston gulped. “Okay.” Then he got out of the backseat and into the driver’s seat. He waited for JJ to walk back into the stadium before he let his forehead drop against the steering wheel. “Please don’t let me fall in love with him,” he muttered at the dashboard. He had no idea who he was talking to but he hoped some omnipotent god would hear him and take pity. 

He wasn’t ready for his heart to run amok, not over a man like JJ Watt, a man who stood out everywhere he went. Winston had always imagined falling in love one day, maybe to a sommelier or a chef or even an artist or architect, someone creative, articulate, worldly and witty, someone he could be seen with in public without drawing unnecessary attention, someone with whom he could share a quiet and happy life. None of that would be possible with a man of JJ’s celebrity. Why had he ever agreed to that dinner? What they did afterwards, well, they were both bombed, and it was just one of those spur-of-the-moment things, wasn’t it? So why did he find himself thinking about him day and night? Winston sighed and pushed the ignition button. If he drove like a maniac, he could still make it to the hospital on time. He was pretty sure he looked like a hot mess, and now he had to observe a four-hour operation and _focus_ , but he had survived all those years of medical school…could this be any harder? 

*** 

Winston returned to Baltimore on the redeye that same night. He was exhausted even though he had managed to catnap on the plane and spent the remainder of Saturday in bed catching up on sleep. On Sunday, he met his best friend Christina at the Walters Art Museum. Christina came from old money and taught art history at the Maryland Institute College of Art. She had written her PhD dissertation on the depiction of feminine evil in nineteenth century _fin de siècle_ France and, as a graduate of Wellesley, she was staunchly against marriage. 

“Marriage is nothing more than an oppressive tool to control women and assets,” she had told Winston at a fundraiser held by the Baltimore Art Museum. “It’s really just a throwback to patriarchal hegemony and the surest way to kill good sex, or even mediocre sex. Most men don’t have a clue what to do with a woman’s body anyway. It’s pathetic.” 

Winston had taken a long sip of Prosecco and readily agreed with her. They both sat on the museum’s Board of Trustees and she knew he was gay. “I really like women, but I’m pretty sure I’d suck in bed with a girl. I mean, there’s just no way of knowing if she’s really enjoying it or if she’s just faking it, am I right? With a guy, you know for sure if you’re a terrible lover.” 

“How’s that? Guy’s don’t fake it?” she had asked. 

“It’s kind of hard to fake an orgasm if you’re a man.” 

“What if you’re the one with your cock up someone’s ass? Couldn’t you fake it then? I mean, let’s say you’re bored or the other guy isn’t turning you on and you just want to get it over with? Can’t you just grunt and pretend you shot your load?” 

“Uh…yeah…I suppose…although it’s not as easy as you make it sound…” Winston had floundered in the face of her bold honesty. If he had been straight, he would have been petrified of her but, being very _not_ straight, she seemed like the perfect woman. 

That was over two years ago and over the course of their friendship he had attempted sex with her three drunken times and confirmed his suspicion that he’d be a total failure in the sack with a woman. She was still his favorite drinking buddy, though, and his favorite person in the whole world. 

“What’s the matter, Win?” asked Christina. They stood in front of a case displaying Akkadian cylinder seals from the third millennium BC. “You’re not your usual chatty self.” 

It was almost one o’clock and they had been walking through the galleries for the past two hours. 

“I think I need to eat something,” he muttered, but he wasn’t even hungry. He had only had coffee and toast and half a grapefruit that morning for breakfast. Normally, he’d be starving by now but his stomach had remained clenched in a tight ball ever since he had driven away from the stadium on Friday, the sight of JJ walking away from the rental car burned into his brain. 

“Okay,” Christina chirped. “Let’s go. I’m in the mood for Middle Eastern.” 

They went to Lebanese Taverna on President Street and ordered kibbeh and kabobs and a cucumber and tomato salad with chickpeas. 

“Spit it out, Win.” Christina bit into a cube of seared marinated lamb and chewed with determination. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Winston grumbled, but he knew he couldn’t fool her. Women were so much more perceptive than men. “I think…I think I’m in love.” 

“What? You? Mr. I Won’t Settle For Anything Less Than Perfect?” She licked the delicious grease off her lips and leaned forward. “So, who is he? I want to know _everything_.” 

Winston rubbed his eyes and slumped back in his chair. “I really can’t say. He’s…you’d know who he is and…that’s not a good thing. Besides, I don’t even know how he really feels. Maybe it’s all in my head. I just…I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.” 

*** 

“I don’t even know how he really feels. Maybe it’s all in my head. I just…I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.” 

“You backstabbing motherfucker!” Aaron shouted over the phone. 

“What? You’re the one who fucked that lousy actress,” JJ countered. 

“We're not talking about _me_ , you piece of shit.” Aaron was in Green Bay enjoying a bye week. “I told you to keep your hands off my Windex!” 

“You never said that!” protested JJ. “You only said you’d hit his sweet ass and, goddamn it, if you try to—" 

“Is this why you want to put your greedy paws all over Windex? Well, fuck you! You’re only interested in him because my cum tastes better than yours!” 

“That…” JJ was stunned. “…that is so not true…” JJ groaned and flopped down onto his bed. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. This is so fucked up. _I’m_ fucked up...” 

“Jesus Christ,” Aaron mumbled. “You really are in love…like some girl creaming her panties over…I dunno…Justin Bieber?” 

“Don’t call me a girl and I don’t even like Justin Bieber!” 

“Okay, okay. Shit.” Aaron put another bratwurst link on the grill for Clay Matthews, who was in the backyard behind the garage chopping wood for fun. “Fine. If it makes you happy, you can have him. He was never into me anyway.” 

JJ swallowed, feeling just a little bit guilty for not revealing all the complimentary things Winston had said about Aaron. “Thanks, bro.” 

“Whatever.” 

This was not good. He had been friends with Aaron for so long, and yet…he knew they couldn’t continue behaving like teenaged boys at a circle jerk. It was time to think about the future. It was time to think about something real and lasting, something dark eyed and slender and painfully elusive.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * JJ badly injured his finger during the week two game with the Cincinnati Bengals in RL. I decided to work that detail into this chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

 

“Quit your whining,” JJ said. “Everyone’s onto your tricks by now and, you know what? If you’re gonna win, don’t win because you got a sneaky first down from penalties.”

Aaron was always trying to get extra yardage by drawing the defense offside or by getting a flag thrown because some slow-footed defensive tackle couldn’t haul his fat ass off the field before he called for the snap from his center.

“That’s just fucking _cheap_. Even if it’s legal, it’s still low down and dirty.” JJ had been on the other side of those calls, and he hated giving the opposing team extra yardage because the quarterback had rushed the snap. That was the worst, and Aaron was a _master_ at inducing those kinds of annoying penalties.

“Don’t you like me anymore?” asked Aaron.

JJ could hear it over the phone—the _hurt_ in Aaron’s voice—but he wasn’t quite sure if Aaron was just punishing him for…manhandling his Windex.

“Of course I like you,” JJ said. “You’ll always be my best bro. You know that, don’t you?”

There was silence. Then more silence.

“Are you still there or should I hang up?” asked JJ.

“I…you know what? We don’t have to do this anymore.” Aaron sighed. He was going up against the Saints the next day and he _hated_ playing in the Superdome. Everyone did. It was so fucking loud there. He wasn’t even in the mood for anything remotely sexual and JJ had been a different person ever since…

It was JJ’s turn to sigh into the phone. “Okay. Whatever. Call me if you change your mind.” It was Houston’s bye week this time and JJ was in his apartment eating a Domino’s pizza by himself for dinner. He had a free supply of pizza from Papa John’s, but that pizza was pure _crap_. In-fucking-edible. After he hung up with Aaron, he called Winston. “Hey, sweetheart. How’s Shanghai?”

Winston sounded tired and depressed. “It’s fine.”

“Are you okay? How was the funeral yesterday?”

Winston’s grandmother on his father’s side had passed recently and his parents and his brother’s family had flown back to China three days ago.

“The funeral was fine.” Winston was in his grandparent’s home in Shanghai, all his relatives gathered in the house drinking tea the next morning and saying prayers before the small shrine set up in the living room. “Grandpa cried. My dad cried.” Winston put his phone on the kitchen counter and covered his mouth to stifle a sob. His grandmother had always doted on him, told him he would have children one day, so many children that he wouldn’t know which house to live in when he was old and needed looking after. He wouldn’t have any children, would he? He was a failure. “JJ—" But he couldn’t go on, couldn’t speak. What had he done with his life?

“Yeah? What is it? Tell me.” JJ put his slice of pizza back into the cardboard box. He knew what it was to lose a grandparent, someone loved and precious. “I’m here for you, okay?” He heard Winston sniffling quietly and his stomach clenched. “Hey, when you come back, I’ll find a way to see you. I promise.”

Winston was torn. Maybe he should go back to that barista from Starbucks with the lovely cock for the time being. The guy was young, good looking, and always available for an uncomplicated fuck. What future, if any, did he have with JJ? None. None at all, and he would only make himself miserable if he loved him and couldn’t have him. It would only lead to a dead end and probably more heartbreak than he was willing to accept. He had always hated disappointing his parents and, now, he knew he would be desecrating the memory of his grandmother too if he continued down this path. He peered out the doorway of the kitchen and looked at his grandfather sitting on the sofa in the living room surrounded by his son and daughter-in-law, his grandchildren, cousins, nieces and nephews. His grandfather had shared a life with a woman who had loved him, cooked for him, borne him a child to carry on his name, nursed him when he was ill. This woman was dead and gone, but at least his grandfather had done all the things expected of a man, at least he had all _this_ to show for.

Winston had followed in his own father’s footsteps, carved out a successful career in the medical field, but he had failed on every other count, despite the effort to please, if he were honest about it. Still. It wasn’t too late to salvage his life, was it? Maybe he could come to an arrangement with Christina. She was five years older than him and her biological clock was probably ticking like a time bomb. Even if he couldn’t reach orgasm with her in bed, there were other ways. There was artificial insemination, if she wanted his sperm, or they could use a donor. He was pretty sure he’d be a good father, responsible and caring. His patients had always complimented him on his compassionate bedside manner. He liked Christina so much, admired and respected her. It wouldn’t take much to love her. Yes, loving her would be easy; he probably already did. The rest he could deal with later.

So, Winston wiped his eyes on a napkin and told JJ, “Don’t promise me anything. Don’t offer what you can’t give.”

***

“Did you fall and hit your head on the curb or something?” Christina asked. She reached for a baklava and bit into its flaky layers of phyllo doused in butter, honey, and chopped pistachios. It was four-thirty in the afternoon and she was done with lecturing and advisement for the day. In her morning graduate seminar class with the MFA students, they had discussed readings from her favorite male bullshitters: Lacan, Derrida, de Man, Ehrmann. She had assigned much easier readings by Marx, Kant, and Heidegger to her afternoon class with the undergraduate BFA students; the Germans were frighteningly clinical in their logic, but only the French could really fuck you up with pure nonsense. The MFA students had practically revolted en masse, except for the few who intended to pursue teaching posts rather than real art careers. Next week, they’d get into Lee Edelman’s theories of sexuality and she’d make them watch _American Psycho_ and _Blue Velvet_ to rock their world some more. She was teaching _art_ students, for Christ’s sake, and they were nauseatingly conservative in her opinion.

Winston was done for the day, too. He had performed a double knee replacement operation that morning and then met with a sales representative from a Swiss manufacturer of artificial orthopedic implants. It had been a week since he had returned from Shanghai but he hadn’t felt jet lagged until now. He’d been too emotionally discombobulated before, but now all that nervous energy was out of his system and he needed something else in its place. He took a sip of his Turkish coffee, his face a picture of utter dejection.

“No, I didn’t give myself a concussion.” He absently picked a baklava off the plate and ate it robotically.

Christina watched in shock. Winston never ate sweets, not because he was one of those anti-sugar Nazis, but because he simply didn’t like the taste. “No…” Christina drawled, “…you definitely hit your head, or you’re not the Winston I know. You’re some pod person, right? First you ask me if I want to get married and have a baby with you, and now you’re eating dessert. Does any of that sound like you?”

“Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I don’t like babies,” Winston demurred.

“Yeah? Well, I _hate_ them. They cry and shit and puke all over the place and then when they grow up they hate your guts right back. Who needs that? Besides, there are plenty of breeders in the world as it is. I don’t need to add to that de-evolutionary shitshow.”

They both sat in silence for a few moments, watching the streets and sidewalks slowly fill with people leaving work to go home to their families.

“You’re not getting laid enough,” Christina told him flatly, like she was a shrink or physician diagnosing his ailment. “All that semen is going straight from your balls to your brain and coagulating up there and making you depressed. That’s how it works. Gotta let those puppies out before they chew through your grey matter.”

Winston scowled. “Where’d you get that gem from? Roland Barthes?”

“Nah. Just common sense, kiddo.”

Winston squirmed in his seat. He had to admit, he _did_ need to get laid, and badly. Jerking off in the shower just wasn’t doing it for him and every time he opened up the bottom drawer of his nightstand, his collection of dildos wasn’t doing it for him either. Maybe he’d been too hasty, pushing JJ away like that. Winston had been such an asshole over the phone because he was upset over his grandmother’s passing and feeling overwhelmed by his own guilt, not about his sexuality, but over letting his parents down. If he found the right woman, perhaps he _could_ make a future for himself. Plenty of gay men had done it in the past, were doing it right at this moment in fact. It could work. He could _make_ it work and he was fairly confident that he could make it work with Christina. They shared common interests, liked the same movies, held the same political and ethical values. They were compatible in so many ways, except in bed. Didn’t that part—the sexual interest—fade away with time for any couple? Besides, it’s not like he’d expect her to be ‘faithful’ to him in any way. She would be free to fuck anyone she wanted, and he would do the same.

“Wouldn’t your parents like for you to settle down?” Winston asked. He wasn’t giving up quite yet.

“Win, I don’t give a shit what my parents think and you know that. You also know I don’t believe in marriage, so just quit this nonsense right now.”

Winston played his one and only shitty trump card. “You wouldn’t do it for _me_?”

Christina gritted her teeth and growled like an angry lioness. “Pull that manipulative bullshit on me again and I’ll slap all that pretty right off your fucking face.” She stuffed her phone into her too tiny pocketbook and slung it over her shoulder as she stood up. “I’m going home and taking a nice hot bath. Come over at eight. I’m making Thai.”

“I’ll bring some wine,” Winston mumbled. He watched her walk across the street to the municipal parking lot, her short skirt swaying around her hips. She was wearing thigh high black leather boots that showed off her shapely legs. Yeah, she was hot, her blond hair piled high on her head in a loose bun, large hoop earrings dangling and bouncing against her round cheeks. He’d go over to her apartment tonight, eat and get drunk, make himself look lost and helpless so she would feel sorry for him. Christina liked to talk tough, but he knew that she was as soft as a marshmallow on the inside. That was the beauty of women, that innate generosity, and he wasn’t ashamed to take full advantage of it.

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

JJ didn’t know what to make of that phone call. He had to chalk it up to Winston being upset about his grandmother’s passing. When JJ’s own grandfather had died, it had been terrible, just terrible, so he didn’t panic. Winston wasn’t telling him to take a hike, after all, and it was true that they wouldn’t have much opportunity to see each other during the season. Pro player’s lives were so regimented and controlled by team ownership, they were little more than glorified circus animals performing for the entertainment of fans once a week. Most players who weren’t already married had girlfriends willing to come to them or kept lovers in various cities or just hooked up with escorts. JJ had never been into that. His mother would have reamed him out for leaving himself open to gold diggers. He wondered what his mother would think of _this_. This wasn’t mere adolescent hijinks anymore, stupid acts committed without thought or purpose. What he felt for Winston went way beyond that. But what the hell did he really feel? Love? Lust? Infatuation?

When faced with a dilemma, JJ turned to his usual solution for all of his problems: he went into the gym and pounded out reps like a madman. He was supposed to take the day off to recover, but there was nothing like shredding his muscles to set his mind free. As the sweat started rolling off of his face and body in sheets, JJ let reason and good sense take over. It seemed ridiculous to be worrying over someone he barely knew. They had shared one dinner, one quick lap fuck that lasted all of five minutes, and one crazed handjob that lasted two minutes at the most. His phone sex calls with Aaron lasted longer than both of those amorous events combined and his actual hook-ups with his favorite QB playing for his favorite team in the world had always been satisfying, physically and even emotionally. And yet the encounters with Winston, however brief, had been so wildly intense. Was it just the urgency of the situations or was there something else going on, something that went beyond simple carnal desire? What was that persistent ache in his heart? And why did it feel like he had a swarm of bees buzzing around in his normally iron gut every time he thought of those dark eyes gazing back at him, that plump lower lip asking to be sucked and licked and bitten? He didn’t feel those things with Aaron. Desire? Yes. Bees? No. Aching heart? Hell no!

Things had gone a little sour between him and Aaron and their seasons were heading in opposite directions as well. Aaron was riding on a wave of glory after the Packers beat the Bengals in OT in their Sunday game—the first win out of seven previous failed OT attempts for Aaron—while JJ was still trying to swallow the Texans’ gut-wrenching loss to the Patriots. Houston’s offense had made a very rare appearance behind their new rookie QB, Deshaun Watson, scoring a whopping thirty-three points, but their vaunted defense—with JJ as their highest paid poster boy—had looked like a flimsy slice of holey Swiss cheese against Tom Brady & Co. That was just great, wasn’t it? To lose by a mere three points to Tom and his I’m-on-the-front-cover-of-GQ-again looks. They didn’t have Edelman and the Gronk was coming off of a groin injury and they still beat the Texans, still beat JJ. Aaargh! JJ finished his squats and lifts with the weighted ball and moved on to the bench press. Mario, his usual spotter at the gym, came over to work with him.

“Dude, tough loss,” Mario said as he gripped JJ’s hand in a bro shake.

“Yeah,” JJ muttered. He laid down a towel and settled onto his back. “Another massive hot beef injection from the god of New England.”

***

After the workout, JJ felt calm and clearheaded. His body was still tingling from residual adrenalin and endorphins washing over his brain and lifting his spirits. He relaxed in the lounge after his shower, answering texts and drinking a liter bottle of his own homemade iced green tea infused with lemon. The iced green tea was Winston’s suggestion. Normally, JJ would drink one of the NFL endorsed products like Gatorade—shit, he made commercials for them, after all—but Winston had given him a few dietary tips and what was good enough for Tom and for Aaron was sure as hell good enough for him. Besides, Tom and Aaron were both kicking his ass in their own ways and he needed to even the playing field. JJ’s eyes fell on the last text Winston had sent him:

thnx 4 the roses but im not a grl. fyi: i prefer tulips or peonies.

That guy. JJ smiled despite the irritation he felt. He knew what tulips were, but what the fuck are peonies? JJ did a quick search on Google and, wow, yeah, peonies are pretty spectacular. Known for their fragrance, eh? Goddamn it. JJ sighed with despair. Wasn’t that Winston in a nutshell: beautiful and good smelling? Winston would kill him if he knew that he entertained these kinds of sappy thoughts. JJ had innocently told Winston “You’re really cute” at one point and even though he couldn’t see Winston’s face over the phone, JJ could hear the fury in his eerily subdued voice.

“Cute is for _chipmunks_ ,” was Winston’s seething, white-hot reply.

So, how to woo him, then? How to win over someone playing so hard to get? Someone who called you ‘asshole’ instead of ‘honey’ or ‘babe’ or ‘sweetheart’? Was ‘asshole’ some kind of weird endearment particular to Asians or what? So hard to know! But JJ knew someone in Green Bay who might be able to advise him.

“Hey, Professor Matthews. I got a question.”

“Shoot.”

JJ could hear Clay chewing loudly over the phone. “Don’t tell me. You’re eating brats.”

“Yup.”

“Usinger’s?” asked JJ.

“Nope. Klement’s.”

“Traitor.”

Clay was miffed by that accusation. “Klement’s _is_ from Wisconsin, dummy.”

“Yeah, well, that’s like saying you like the Yankees _and_ the Mets, or the Texans _and_ the Cowboys. You gotta pick one or the other,” insisted JJ.

“Cowboys, for sure.”

“Fuck you!

“Yeah, yeah, fuck me, fuck you. What do you want? I’m eating my lunch here and then Casey and I are going out for frozen custard.” It was a Tuesday, a pro player’s one day off during the week and Clay was going to indulge his craving for junk food.

“Leon’s or—”

“Will you stop with the ‘this or that’ bullshit? We’re going to Leon’s, okay, in Oshkosh. Now what’s your point? I haven’t got all day!” Clay turned to his wife and mouthed, “It’s Watt,” and then he rolled his eyes to let her know what a pain in the ass JJ was being.

“Okay, okay. My question is this: if someone you like is always calling you an asshole, does that mean they like you back? Or not?”

There was a short pause and then Clay declared, “Well, it definitely means they like you back…if you’re in fucking _fifth grade_. Are you regressing back to childhood, Watt? Seriously? What’s your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem!”

“You know what? Go ask your _mom_. I don’t have the time to change your diaper.”

“What diaper?”

“The one you’re wearing while you shit yourself over somebody you’re obviously stalking.”

“Why do people think I’m a—”

“Later, dumbass!”

Oh, come on! Now Clay was hanging up on him. JJ took another long sip of his green tea, his thoughts immediately flying back to Winston and the sound of his voice the last time they had spoken. Winston had seemed so sad, so lost. “Don’t promise me anything,” he had said. “Don’t offer what you can’t give.” JJ had promised to be there for him, to find a way to see him again and give him what? Happiness? Love? Winston didn’t even seem to want those things from him. JJ had sent him the flowers hoping to cheer him up after he had returned from his grandmother's funeral, hoping Winston would see how sincere he was in his feelings. It’s not every day a guy sends flowers to another guy, is it, or dares to sign the card with Xs and Os? Wasn’t that the same as signing it with the word ‘love’? Didn’t that prove how brave JJ was being? But Winston’s ‘thank you’ text wasn’t exactly romantic in nature. It was typical Winston: snarky and cutting and…it made JJ want him all the more.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Winston awoke to the sound of his new burr grinder running in his kitchen. Jed was always an early riser and was now an even bigger coffee snob since he had moved onto being head barista at Marcello’s. 

“Starbucks is fine if you like your coffee beans burnt to hell,” Jed had told Winston yesterday as they walked through the Williams-Sonoma at Cross Keys. Then he made Winston purchase a burr grinder priced just under three hundred dollars. 

“What’s wrong with my Cuisinart?” protested Winston. He wasn’t a cheapskate, but he didn’t like to throw money down the drain either. 

“If you’re going to use quality beans, you need to use a quality burr grinder, not a fifty dollar spice mill. A burr grinder won’t _maim_ the beans; it’ll grind them _just so_.” 

Winston had said, “Fine.” If the sex weren’t so good, he’d have said something else altogether. He did put his foot down when Jed tried to talk him into a three thousand dollar espresso maker. “I’m keeping my French press. End of story.” 

They had gone back to Winston’s apartment and made love for hours. Jed was twenty-seven, a hair shy of six feet, with lean muscles and a lovely uncut cock, just long and thick enough to hit all the right spots. He wore his blond hair shoulder length and tied back, but Winston always insisted that he keep it loose when they had sex. He liked the feel of it on his face or on his back or between his thighs. 

Christina had almost the same hair—the same color and length—and if Winston closed his eyes, he could swear he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference if it were not for the scent of the shampoo they each favored: Christina used something that smelled like lavender and Jed’s smelled like cinnamon. Winston pressed his face into the pillow next to him and took a deep breath. Yeah, he could smell the cinnamon. Jed had stayed overnight after he had fucked Winston into a sweaty, boneless heap. The first time had been quick. Jed had barely started thrusting into him when Winston felt his orgasm slamming into his gut, that delicious overwhelming ache that shook him from top to bottom and inside out.

“Oh, fuck,” he had moaned into the back of the sofa as he spurted all over the cushion. Thank god he had draped his shirt over the fabric or there would be another upholstery cleaning bill. They were in his living room, Jed standing behind him and holding onto his hips as Winston kneeled on the sofa, elbows resting against the back, legs spread. Jed hadn’t even touched his cock. 

“You are so wound up, baby,” Jed had whispered into his ear. “Have you been depriving yourself?” He pulled out and laid Winston on his back, slid his cock back in balls deep in one swift easy movement. Winston groaned loudly and hitched his legs around Jed’s slim waist. Jed began grinding his hips against Winston but not pulling out, just keeping his dick lodged deep inside Winston as he slowly rocked his body into him. The room was silent except for their heavy breathing and the wet sounds of their kisses. Jed was a good kisser and he knew how much Winston loved having his ears nibbled, his neck licked and sucked. He only wished that Winston would let him use his tongue on his hole; the man was too OCD to allow for any rimming except in the shower. They would get to that later. 

After some minutes, the sensitivity dissipated from Winston’s cock. He felt open and ready for more. “You can fuck me harder,” Winston told him. 

Jed smiled down at him. “Anything you say, doctor.” Jed pulled back and rested on his heels as he grabbed hold of the backs of Winston’s knees and folded his legs against his chest, lifting his hips off the sofa and shifting the angle of penetration. Jed started fucking him long and deep, pulling out all the way and then sliding back in, slowly at first. It was agonizingly good and Jed was oh so patient. He was a stoner and never in a hurry when it came to sex. Maybe that’s what made him such a good lover. 

Regardless of the reason, Winston’s cock was plumping and hardening again, going rigid against his belly, his toes curling as Jed began pumping faster, the wet slap of his balls against Winston’s ass cheeks punctuating each snap of his hips. Winston gripped the arm of the sofa behind his head and arched his back and moaned. 

“Oh god! Fuck!” Winston reached down with one hand and tugged at his cock. He couldn’t even find a rhythm, he was so gone and Jed was just hammering him at this point, Winston's body jerking and shuddering with each well-aimed thrust. His prostate felt like it was going to burst into flames. Jed licked his thumb and rubbed the pad of it over Winston’s slit and that did it. Winston shot all over himself, wetting both of their hands as Jed unloaded deep inside his clenching hole. 

They dozed off for half an hour and then woke up sticky with dried cum. In the shower, Jed finally had opportunity to spread Winston’s ass cheeks after a thorough soaping and rinsing. He was pink and swollen and whimpering with each pass of Jed’s tongue across his hole. The sound of his cries reverberating in the tiled bathroom was such a turn on, Jed was tempted to bend him over and take him again but he knew Winston wouldn’t be able to handle another round so soon. Jed had been surprised to get Winston’s call—seemingly out of the blue—after they hadn’t seen each other in almost a year. He had been sorely disappointed when Winston had been unwilling to pursue a deeper commitment the first time they had dated. It had lasted for three good months and then Winston had ended it. Jed figured it was because they weren't exactly equals career-wise: Winston was a very successful surgeon and Jed was a lowly worker at Starbucks. Winston had treated him well, though; he had taken him out to nice restaurants, even spent a weekend at a bed and breakfast, but it had never moved into serious boyfriend territory. Maybe this time things would be different. 

The thought brought a smile to Jed's handsome face as he made coffee the next morning. They had ordered in for dinner last night after their shower, drank a very nice Bordeaux, and then took turns blowing each other in bed before falling asleep to an old Doris Day-Rock Hudson movie on television. Winston had never let him sleep over before. He seemed changed, maybe even a little depressed. Maybe he had gone through another break-up. Whatever it was, Jed was happy to walk back into Winston’s life even if the door was open just a crack. They got along well, despite Winston’s past reluctance to take their relationship to another level, and the sex was pretty darn great. Nothing had changed in that regard, that was for sure. 

“Morning.” Winston padded into the kitchen wearing a Baltimore Ravens jersey that was two sizes too big for him. He was rubbing his eyes and his hair was a mess and the whole picture made him look even younger than the eighteen years for which he was often mistaken. “I hope that burr grinder is proving its worth.” 

“Trust me,” Jed replied as he dumped the grounds into the bottom of the French press. “It’ll be like night and day.” He poured the heated water from the electric kettle halfway up the carafe and set the timer to steep for four minutes. After a minute, he stirred the pot, then filled it the rest of the way with hot water and put the lid on. 

“I guess I’ll make some toast,” Winston said. 

Neither of them were heavy eaters at breakfast, another thing they had in common, thought Jed. He put his arms around Winston as he slotted some bread into the toaster. Jed kissed the back of his neck. “I had a really great time last night. Did you?” 

Winston turned around, his face reddening. “Yes. I’d forgotten…” 

Yeah, he’d forgotten what it was to get properly fucked. Wasn’t that what JJ had said he would do for him but never actually did, never got around to it? And wasn’t that why Winston had called Jed, that and the disastrous night at Christina’s when he’d failed to ‘close the deal’ once more with her. She had made a huge pan of stir-fried noodles with shrimp and spicy peanut sauce and they had shared a terrific Shiraz which put both of them in the mood to get silly and fool around. Luckily for Winston, Christina was used to male inadequacies. 

“Just stuff it in there,” she had suggested when he started going soft. They were naked on her bed and Winston was still determined to prove he could do it with a woman, as if that would convince her that he’d be a good husband and father. What a joke! “Here, let me show you.” She pushed Winston off of her and climbed on top. “You see, your _thingy_ goes into my _pussy_ , like this.” She then proceeded to literally stuff his half-hard cock inside her vagina with her fingers. He almost peed himself laughing, the whole situation was so ludicrous. Somehow, she managed to get herself off by rubbing her clit against his pubes while riding his semi-tumescent dick, Winston straddled beneath her and giggling through tears. 

“Did you even come?” Christina asked afterwards. She rested against the headboard smoking a cigarette while Winston dressed. 

“Um…” 

“Okay, that’s a ‘no’ right there.” 

“Sorry, Tina. I really wanted to.” 

“It’s a shame, you know.” She took a long drag while she contemplated the air vent in the ceiling. “You’ve got such a cute little ass. It’s no wonder you’ve got guys lining up to top you. I’d do it myself if I were a dude.” Then her eyes brightened. “Hey, what if I wore a strap-on! Would you like that? Then we could really get it on.” 

Winston had pulled up his trousers in a hurry. “Why the hell do you assume I’m the bottom?” He was genuinely miffed. “Just because my cock won’t perform for a woman—” 

Christina interrupted with an exaggerated pouty face. “Aw, poor widdle Winston. Did mommy hurt your feelings?” 

“You are so fucking mean to me,” Winston said fondly. He buttoned up his shirt and then sat on the bed and kissed her, gently caressed her breasts until her nipples hardened. “You know I love you.” 

“Yeah? Tell it to that fucker you’ve been pining for. Tell him your mommy’s gonna kick his ass if he breaks your heart.” She grabbed the back of Winston’s head and stuck her tongue in his mouth, swirled it around until he started squirming. “I swear, you are the most ticklish person I know.” 

“It’s just you, Tina.” He got up and picked his tie off the floor. “I’ll cook next time.” 

He had sent her a huge spray of orchids the next day. He didn’t care for orchids, but Christina liked them. She thought they looked vaguely dangerous. The peonies JJ had sent after the roses and the tulips were still sitting in the vase on Winston’s dining room table. He could see the flowers from where he was standing in his open kitchen as Jed started nibbling on his ear. Then the timer buzzed. 

“Well, what do you think?” asked Jed, eyes on Winston as he took a sip of the coffee. “Can you taste the difference?” 

“Hmm. Yes. Better,” Winston said.

The truth was he couldn’t really taste any difference. We _wanted_ to, but he couldn’t. He wanted to like Jed much more than this and he couldn’t fathom why he didn’t. Jed was so good looking and Winston—his body at least—responded so well to him. But his heart wasn’t in it, wouldn't get with the program, the same way his cock wouldn't cooperate with Christina. He wondered what it would be like to love Jed, to feel butterflies in his stomach whenever he thought of him, saw him or touched him, heard his voice. When Winston closed his eyes that night, alone again in his apartment, he replayed their sexual escapades in his mind. He touched himself, stroked himself slowly, breathing in deeply. He could smell the fragrance of the peonies even in his bedroom, and when he came he didn’t see Jed’s light brown eyes, he saw steely grey-blue eyes gazing back at him, a pair of massive hands around his waist, and all he could do was wish for JJ to be his, even if it broke his heart.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Well, sometimes the gods taketh and sometimes they giveth. JJ was flying high as a kite after their win against the Titans. The Texans’ defense had harassed Marcus Mariota—Tennessee’s QB to rival Tom Brady in the looks department—while Houston’s offense had set team records for points scored behind Deshaun Watson. To make the victory even sweeter, the Patriots had lost a heartbreaker against the Carolina Panthers by the same three-point spread they had stuffed up the ass of the Texans not that long ago. Oh, what a difference a few weeks can make! The Packers had won against the Bears, of course, in their previous Thursday night game, which made JJ’s Sunday game worth celebrating. JJ had called Aaron late on that Thursday night to congratulate him, and Aaron returned the favor on Sunday night because he was that kind of guy.

“Shit, that was a beauty,” Aaron told him. “And I take back everything I said about your team having no offense. Deshaun is for real.”

“Fuck, yeah! That rookie is something else.” It was past midnight and JJ was in his kitchen making a turkey and Swiss sandwich on whole wheat. Winston would probably tell him he was a fool to be eating so late but, fuck it, he was starving—winning always made him ravenously hungry—and he planned on getting up early the next morning to book a private jet to Baltimore for Tuesday. JJ wasn’t one to live extravagantly but this most recent victory had made him feel like splurging and he wasn’t going to wait for the end of the season to finally show Winston that he wasn’t just all talk; he would walk the walk like it was nobody’s business. “Goddamn it, Cheesy Puff. Life is too short to hold back, you know what I mean? Deshaun is just a kid and he’s fucking going for it and he’s killing it, man, he’s not letting anything or anyone stop him and…” JJ struggled to find the right words to express his rising frustration.

“Listen, JJ,” Aaron cut in, “what’s going on with you? You haven’t called me Cheesy Puff since forever. And I get the feeling you’re…I dunno…are we even on the same page here?”

“It’s not you,” JJ said. “It’s me. It’s all me, okay? I’m in a weird place right now and I’m…figuring it out as I go along.” JJ took a bite out of his sandwich and chewed. He was thinking so hard his head hurt. “Have you ever felt like…have you ever been with someone who made you want to just…throw up?”

“Throw up?” Aaron was confused. “You mean like your hands or your stomach contents?”

“Throw up, vomit, hurl, puke, sheesh! Don’t complicate things!” JJ swallowed and took another bite. Damn, that sandwich was tasty!

“So, uh, you hate this person or something?” ventured Aaron.

“Hate? No, man, more like…shit…this person makes you feel like a total loser because you don’t want to blow it and…you’re still blowing it…as much as you don’t want to. Goddamn it. I was talking to Clay and he told me I was a fifth grader. Christ! I hate him!”

“What? You hate Matthews or…someone else? Dude, are you talking hypothetically here? Honestly, you’re making no sense.” Aaron sighed. He should be one second short of coming right now but this was obviously not going to be one of those phone calls. “You know what? I don’t even know you anymore.”

JJ brought the sandwich to his mouth and stopped, Aaron’s words sinking into his brain. “Fuck. Bro. You’ve always…you’re right. I don’t know who I am either. I don’t know anything anymore. Is this what it feels like?”

“What?” Aaron was worried. Was JJ losing his mind? Had he suffered an undiagnosed concussion? One of the first signs of a concussion was confusion.

JJ’s voice was raw when he finally spoke. He sounded like a frightened child. “Is this what it feels like to be in love?”

***

He landed at Baltimore-Washington International Airport Tuesday late morning and took a car to his hotel, the Renaissance Harborplace. The Texans always stayed there for their games with the Ravens and JJ knew it well. As soon as he arrived, he texted Winston:

meet me at capital grille 2pm no excuses

At 2:00 pm sharp Winston showed up looking completely frazzled. People were staring at JJ waiting in the entryway—because Ravens fans were rabid and they knew who the enemy was—but JJ was used to being looked at with both love and hate. Baltimore fans were decent people, though, and most were just happy to get an autograph or a selfie with him. He was posing with a grandmother-mother-daughter trio when he saw Winston walk through the door. Their eyes met and JJ’s heart skipped more than one beat. He had gone into fucking cardiac arrest. As lightheaded as he felt, JJ had the wherewithal to kiss all three women on the cheek before excusing himself.

“Hey,” JJ said, “Thanks for coming.”

“What are you doing here?” Winston asked. He was a little breathless and frowning.

“I-I wanted to surprise you,” JJ said. He glanced around the room, all too aware of the eyes on them. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Winston looked away and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I had a bad morning.” The surgery several hours earlier had not gone smoothly. The patient’s blood pressure had risen to dangerous levels under anesthesia and Winston had had to hurry through the procedure. He had managed to complete the repair on the lateral epicondyles to correct what is commonly known as ‘tennis elbow’ but he was still shaken. He liked to take his time to do things correctly; a rush job was not his idea of proper procedure and he badly needed a drink. He was grateful that JJ had at least chosen a restaurant with a good wine list. “Can we get a table?”

“Yeah, yeah, I made reservations,” JJ told him.

They were seated with a view of the harbor and Winston ordered a bottle of Chappellet ‘Mountain Cuvée’ from Napa Valley. He figured JJ would most likely order a steak and Winston preferred reds anyway. “The filet and NY strip are good here,” Winston said as he pretended to read the menu. He had eaten here numerous times. They did a fine seared tuna. Christ. His hands were shaking. Winston laid his menu down and glanced across the table at JJ. JJ was staring at him. Shit. His ass was still tingling from two nights ago when Jed had come over to his apartment and ate him out in the bathtub before fucking him to a blinding orgasm. He hadn’t let Jed sleep over, as if that would make Winston feel any better right now. This whole ‘thing’ with JJ was just a shitstorm of confusion in Winston’s mind. They weren’t boyfriends or even lovers, were they? They had never talked about how they felt about each other, and what was up with the flowers JJ had sent him every week since he had returned from Shanghai? Winston cleared his throat and said cheerfully, “That was a great win against Tennessee on Sunday. I read the recap.” Then he took a big gulp of wine to wash down his guilt.

“That’s nice to know. So, do you follow me online?” JJ teased, fighting the urge to reach over and touch Winston’s hand. Winston was wearing his usual three-piece suit and tie and JJ couldn’t wait to undress him like he was unwrapping a Christmas present.

The wine was hitting Winston’s empty stomach and going straight to his head. He felt like letting all his worries float out to sea on the breeze. “Yeah, your tweets are practically haikus. And by the way, congratulations on your engagement to that kick boxer or wrestler or whoever she is. She looks like someone who could really beat the crap out of you.”

JJ’s mouth opened and then shut. “What are you talking about?”

“C’mon, JJ. You don’t Google yourself? You two are going to have some pretty impressive babies.”

Ah. “I hate to tell you this, Win, but not only is that old news, it was just a media stunt. Get over it.” JJ sat back and grinned. “Does this mean you’re jealous?”

“I don’t know,” Winston replied. He meant it sincerely. Was he jealous? “Should I be?” JJ was smiling even wider now, so he asked, “Would you be jealous if I was sleeping around?”

JJ’s smile disappeared in a flash. “Are you?”

Winston didn’t answer and immediately regretted bringing up the subject. He was really blowing this big time. Maybe it was better to end it right now, before things got even worse. “Forget I said anything,” Winston muttered. “I’m not feeling very good. Maybe we should—”

“Let’s go,” JJ said. “I’m at the Renaissance for the day. I have to fly back to Houston at seven-thirty. We don’t have much time.”

They went straight up to JJ’s suite on the fifth floor, shut the door, and then a tornado hit the room. The tornado stood six-foot-five and weighed in at 290 lbs and was _not_ going to tolerate the idea that Winston had been sleeping around. If Winston had even entertained the thought of doing such a thing, then JJ had fallen short, because nobody should need anything more than him. He was all man, 24/7, and he was going to make sure there wasn’t a shred of doubt in Winston’s mind of that fact by the time JJ was through with him.

“You never answered my question,” JJ growled as he pushed Winston into the room.

Winston froze even as his body trembled with excitement. “What question?”

“Are you cheating on me?” JJ took a threatening step towards him, shoulders squared, but Winston stood his ground.

“Cheating on you?” Winston laughed. “Cheating how? How can I cheat on someone I’m not with?”

“You’re with me now, aren’t you? You wouldn’t be here in my fucking hotel room if you didn’t want to be with me, would you?” JJ crushed him in his arms and kissed into him roughly, bit his lips and then his neck, lifting him off the floor practically. “You think you can fuck with me, don’t you? You think you can twist me around your little finger.” JJ gazed into Winston’s eyes and saw the look of surprise and something bordering on fear. Good. He _should_ be afraid because no one messes with JJ Watt. “If you’ve been with someone else, I’m going to make you forget all about it. When I’m done with you, your ass is mine. Forever.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to end this story here. In RL, JJ's FINALLY announced that he's hooked up, hopefully with the perfect girl for him, and it felt a little weird to go further with this story, even though it's totally fiction. 
> 
> Then a reader asked for the story to continue, so I'll do my best. Thanks for reading.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pure smut and spanking. Then angst at the end.

 

JJ’s hands shook as he pushed the silk-blend jacket off of Winston’s shoulders. Winston was staring up at him with defiance, meeting his eyes without flinching, and JJ was loving it. Nothing turned him on more than a challenge, and Winston was behaving like a total bastard just _asking_ to be broken. Not even Aaron had ever given him such undisguised sass without saying one fucking word. 

“I hope you like it rough,” JJ growled. He unbuttoned Winston’s vest and tossed it onto the floor. Winston’s lips parted—the tip of a pink tongue visible—and then quirked upwards as JJ backed him against the edge of the bed. 

“And what if I don’t?” Winston asked. He lowered his gaze down to watch JJ’s hands loosening his tie, his dark lashes like soft feathers against his cheeks. 

JJ stripped the tie from around Winston’s neck and wound it around his own neck for safekeeping. Then he ripped the front of Winston’s shirt open, sending buttons flying in every direction. “Oh, you’ll like it.” JJ unfastened Winston’s belt and bent his head down to whisper into his ear, “I’m gonna open you up and make you scream for me. You’re gonna take everything I give you and then you’re gonna ask for more. And I’m gonna give it to you. No one else will ever be able to give you what you need. No one but me.” 

He pushed Winston onto the bed and yanked off his shoes and socks, pulled his trousers and briefs off in one swift motion. He laid the belt aside on a pillow and then he bound Winston’s wrists together with his silk tie. “Spread your legs,” JJ ordered. “I wanna see you.” 

Winston was panting, drawing in quick breaths and whimpering. His face and neck and chest were flushed as he slowly drew his legs apart, his eyes on JJ as JJ slowly pulled off his own shirt and toed off his shoes. When he unzipped his jeans and pushed it below his hips, Winston was beside himself, licking his lips even as he let escape a moan. “No,” he said when JJ tugged off his boxers, freeing his engorged cock. 

“No?” JJ smirked as he palmed his thick erection. “I think you mean yes.” He got on all fours over Winston on the bed and stared down at him. “Say it.” He bent his head and kissed him, shoving his tongue deep into his mouth, and then pulled away, biting Winston’s lower lip. “Tell me you want my cock inside you.” 

Winston threw his bound wrists over JJ’s head and around his neck and drew him back down into another kiss. “What cock? I don’t feel a thing.” 

“You are _such_ a naughty boy.” JJ grinned and flipped Winston over onto his stomach, slapped him hard on each cheek. Winston cried out in surprise but didn’t try to turn over. He kept his face pressed against the duvet but JJ still heard his muffled demand, “More!” 

“Fuck,” JJ laughed. “You greedy son of a bitch.” He slapped him hard once more on each cheek, then parted those reddened cheeks and swiped his tongue across his pink hole. 

Winston writhed beneath him, mewling, “No…no…” 

“Wrong answer!” JJ spanked him hard with the flat of his palm several more times before Winston changed his tune to ‘yes.’ “That’s more like it, sweetheart.” JJ hoisted Winston up onto his knees and grabbed each reddened cheek in his hands, his thumbs on either side of his hole, and darted his tongue again, pushing through the tight ring of muscle. 

Winston stopped struggling, going limp and moaning, fisting into the bedspread. He tried to think of Jed, the things they would do together, but he couldn’t even remember what Jed looked like, for shit’s sake. All he could do was jerk against the mattress each time JJ breached his entrance, the rough stubble of his chin chafing deliciously against the sensitive skin of his balls, between his thighs, JJ’s fingers digging painfully into his hips now. It was all so fucking good. And then JJ’s tongue was gone suddenly. He lifted his face to see JJ walk over to a duffel bag sitting on the credenza. 

“Don’t move,” JJ ordered. “Keep that ass in the air where I can see it.” 

God, it was so humiliating…so sick. Winston thought he would come from just _this_. He silently watched JJ roll on a condom and stroke on some lube. Then JJ was behind him again, his slick fingers pushing into him. “How many do you want, Winston? That’s two fingers in you right now. You want more?” 

All Winston could do was groan into the bedspread. He couldn’t form words; his brain had stopped functioning. 

“Cutting straight to _four_ are we? That’s my Winston.” JJ shoved two more fingers in and chuckled loudly when Winston started keening. “Is this how you take it from your other lovers? Hmm? Do you take four fingers from all those other motherfuckers or only from me?” He curled his fingers inside Winston as Winston tried to squirm away. “Tell me!” 

“Only you!” Winston cried out. “Ungh! No more!” 

“Yes more, Winston. Much, much more.” JJ pulled Winston’s back up against his chest and moved them both so they were facing the large mirror hung on the opposite wall. With his back resting against the headboard, JJ lifted him easily onto his lap, his hands practically circling his slender waist. “Go on, fuck yourself on my cock. Do it!” 

With a desperate whimper, Winston reached down with his hands still bound and positioned JJ’s dick at his entrance. His legs were trembling so violently he fell forward as he impaled himself. “Oh, Jesus! Fuck!” he cried out. He had meant to go slower, but the muscles in his legs had decided to go AWOL on him. He scrambled forward but JJ grabbed his hips and pulled him back against his chest, the entire length of his cock sinking in deep. Winston screamed again and then gave up. He collapsed limply against JJ, whimpering softly as JJ caressed his chest and stomach, one hand rubbing his nipples, his breath hot against his ear. Winston had gone soft from the pain, but after JJ started nibbling on his neck, his cock began plumping once more. JJ put his hands under Winston’s knees and lifted his thighs, spreading them wide. 

“Look at you,” JJ rumbled. “Open your eyes, Winston. You’re so beautiful.” 

Winston slowly looked up and saw himself in the mirror, his legs held apart in JJ’s arms, the thick shaft of JJ’s cock sliding in and out of his tight pink hole as JJ moved him up and down easily in his lap. 

“You’re taking my cock like a pro. You want me so bad, don’t you?” 

“Y-Yesss…ungh…ah…” 

JJ reached over for Winston’s belt, held Winston’s legs together, and fastened the belt around his thighs. Winston threw his arms behind him around JJ’s neck to steady himself as JJ clasped one hand tightly beneath Winston’s knees and the other around his buttocks, squeezing both cheeks together. 

“You’re gonna come so hard for me, little boy. I wanna hear you scream.” It was so easy. Winston was so light in his arms. JJ was used to bench pressing hundreds of pounds and Winston felt weightless as he lifted him up and slammed him down onto his cock repeatedly, the wails falling from Winston’s open mouth the most moving song JJ had ever heard. “You’re mine, Winston. No one else will ever have you.” 

Winston was utterly lost. He let it all go, everything he had been holding back, he let it go. JJ’s cock was splitting him in two, tearing him to pieces, and it was _perfection_. No one else had ever done this to him, wrecked him so completely, punched the breath out of him and made him give up control of his senses, of his sanity. He was _mad_ for him. Winston’s body froze when he came. He clenched down so hard JJ stilled, breath held in both of their lungs, and then Winston cried out, spurting all over himself, tears wetting his cheeks as he felt JJ’s cock pulsing inside him. 

“I love you!” Winston sobbed. “Don’t do this to me!” 

Moments later, JJ slipped out of him and rolled Winston onto his side, unfastened the belt, unwound the tie. Angry red welts decorated Winston’s wrists, his thighs. He was crying into his fists, inconsolable. 

“Hey,” JJ whispered. He kissed Winston’s face, his heaving chest, but the tears kept coming. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Don’t cry.” 

Winston didn’t know why he was so wrecked. He only knew he had never felt this way before. He wanted to die. It was too much, what JJ did to him. He couldn’t bear it. He wanted to run away, from JJ, from his grey-blue eyes, from his hands and mouth and cock. He couldn’t stand to feel so much for this man. He couldn’t stand to love him and not have him. 

“I hate you,” Winston sobbed. “I hate you more than anything in the world.”

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, more smut and angst.

Winston’s shirt was beyond repair. He felt like a fool wearing it with the top three buttons undone like some ‘70s porn star. What choice did he have? Those buttons were nowhere to be found and Winston wasn’t about to go crawling on his hands and knees on that hotel carpeting in search of them. 

They had showered and then JJ had ordered up a double cheeseburger with curly fries for himself and a mixed green salad with apples and grilled chicken for Winston. Winston picked at his meal, his hair still wet about his ears, and gulped down the wine he had asked for. He could barely chew and swallow and he sure as shit didn’t want to talk. JJ, though, couldn’t stop talking; he was so overjoyed. 

“Goddamn, you look so totally fucked out. Do you know how hot that is?” JJ stuffed six fries into his mouth after swirling it into the ketchup. 

They were both sitting at the table in just their shirts and underwear. JJ glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was quarter to five. He would be leaving for the airport at five-thirty and he was so glad that he had insisted that they blow each other in the shower. Winston had been so distraught after their lovemaking and nothing JJ said seemed to have had any consoling effect. Winston’s breath was still hitching as JJ pulled him into the marble tiled stall and kissed him, his arms around him, squeezing him tightly against his chest as the hot water slicked their bodies. Winston was so slim, so fragile, his body practically hairless and utterly smooth and unblemished. JJ would fix that. He started at his neck, sucking right under his jaw, then worked his way down his shoulder, onto his left bicep, leaving red welts behind. He dropped to his knees as Winston went limp against the wall, pinching both nipples between thumb and forefinger as JJ nipped at the insides of Winston’s thighs, then took each ball into his mouth and tongued them thoroughly. He gently fingered his hole as Winston moaned above him. He was still open and slick and JJ easily slid two fingers in up to his knuckles as he took Winston’s twitching cock into his mouth. Winston was rock hard in five seconds and desperately fisting into JJ’s hair, his hips pushing forward. 

When JJ curled his fingers, rubbing right against his sweet spot, Winston cried out, “Fuck! Oh…aaah…I can’t…no more…no more!” even as he pushed down harder onto JJ’s hand. 

JJ wrapped his other hand around Winston’s cock, pumping the shaft has he stroked his tongue across his slit, three fingers now buried inside Winston’s ass, fucking him hard. He felt Winston’s muscles clenching around his fingers and then his body going rigid even as his thighs trembled uncontrollably. Winston came into his mouth, his voice like shards of glass, and JJ drank him down and, holy shit, he tasted so savory and sweet, like dinner and dessert rolled into one, and JJ finally knew what Aaron had been enjoying. Goddamn! He stood up and pushed Winston down, grunting with lust. Winston put his lips around JJ’s cock, whimpering, and the sight of those luscious lips stretching around his leaking crown and down his shaft pushed him right over the edge. He gripped the sides of Winston’s head and pulled out, spurting onto his face, Winston’s mouth open and moaning. It was glorious and he would have this, over and over, for the rest of his life if he could help it. He would have this and so much more. “I’m never letting you go,” JJ panted as he pulled Winston back up into his arms. “You’re mine.” 

*** 

Winston’s tie was stuffed into the right pocket of his jacket as he took a cab back to his apartment. He’d take an Advil when he got home. His ass was aching and he felt like he’d been run over by a truck. He didn’t want to cry. He’d already made a fool of himself at the hotel, weeping on the bed like a girl. And yet his eyes burned regardless, tears falling down his cheeks faster than he could wipe them away with the back his hand. He’d totally lost it. That’s what JJ did to him; he’d ripped him to shreds and Winston had no idea how he’d put himself back together. And now JJ was gone and who knew when he’d be able to see him again. His phone had dinged several times on the ride home and, like an idiot, he’d read the texts. They were from Jed: 

i’ll be done at 11. wanna get 2gether? 

miss U 

can’t wait 

Christ. Jed. What would he do about Jed? Winston texted Christina: 

help. can i see u 2nite? 

As Winston paid the cabdriver, his phone dinged again. It was Christina. 

ur place or mine? 

Winston got back into the cab and gave him Christina’s address. Then he texted her back: 

i’ll be at ur place in 10.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. It's postseason baseball and my evenings are no longer free for writing for the next several weeks.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Saturday and I actually had a little free time to write. Hurray!

 

He knew he looked like shit when the first words out of Christina’s mouth were, “What the fuck happened to you? Were you mugged?” 

She stepped aside and let him pass into the foyer and closed the door behind him. Winston was silent and red-eyed. “Have you been _crying_?” Christina asked, incredulous. She had known him well for over two years—saw him at least once a week, every week, had tried fucking him several times—but she had never seen him cry; even when he came back from his grandmother’s funeral, he hadn’t shed a tear in front of her. Now this. Had someone else died? His mother? His father? She noticed that his shirt was wrinkled, buttons missing, his customary tie strangely absent, and went to straighten his collar. That’s when she saw it. 

“Holy shit. That is one massive hickey. Did _Jed_ do that to you?” She peered closer and whistled loudly. “I wouldn’t have pegged him as a freak in bed. He always seems so…relaxed.” 

She knew all about Jed. She was the one who had set Winston up with him in the first place a year ago. Jed had worked at the Starbucks near her place of employment and he had always flashed her a friendly smile behind the counter, flirted with her even though she wasn’t interested; he wasn’t her type. She liked her men elegant, exotic, and foreign, like her first love in high school, a young Iranian exchange student with the most beautiful olive skin and large dark brown eyes as soft and lovely as a doe’s, and a head of thick, wavy ebony hair. _This_ is what one of those royals from ancient Persia would have looked like, she had thought whenever she gazed at him, the living embodiment of an Achaemenid prince, not unlike the ones carved in bas-relief at the ruined palace in Persepolis. Jed was too all-American, too much the vegan-stoner-West Coast surfer type to get her pussy wet. Winston, though, liked his men tall, fair-haired, and solidly muscular and she knew Jed would be right up his alley. 

Christina reached out and gingerly touched Winston’s neck below the angry red kiss mark, then patted him on the shoulders, smoothing out the front of his jacket and vest. If Winston were straight, she would have fallen for him long ago. She absolutely adored him. The first time she had been introduced to him at that museum fundraiser, she had told him, “You know, in an earlier era they would have written poems about your beauty. They would have painted you dressed in scholar’s robes standing under a cherry tree contemplating a rock.” She had been drunk when she said it, but she had also meant every word. As it was, she had no recourse but to express her affection for him in the form of brutally sarcastic teasing. She looked him straight in the eyes now and accused, “You’ve been doing some pretty naughty things, haven’t you? Hmm? And now you need mommy to fix things for you, don’t you?” 

Winston burst into tears. He was a pathetic sight, shaking and sobbing and it aroused all of her deeply buried maternal instincts. She hated babies; the sound of one crying was like fingernails on a chalkboard to her. But Winston falling apart on her was another thing altogether. If she could shrink him down to the size of an infant and hold him to her breast, well…she could still offer him a tit to suck on even as he was, all grown up and needy like she’d never seen him before. He had always been so self-contained, so independent, so confident and controlled, the very opposite of what he was now. His vulnerability was startling and turning her on like crazy. 

She led him into her living room and sat down on the sofa. “C’mon. Tell mommy everything.” He sprawled down next to her, his head cradled in her lap and nose pressed against her belly as she stroked his hair and cheeks. She wouldn’t have been too surprised if he stuck his thumb in his mouth at this point. He was so adorable, so sad, such a baby. She could get used to this, playing the mommy to Winston’s baby. She wouldn’t even have to change any diapers; then she imagined him in diapers, yeah, a pair of Depend undergarments, Winston curled up in a fetal position, sucking his thumb, mewling for her like a kitten. Christ! That was unexplored kink territory in her book. She was part of a ‘club’ and had engaged in all sorts of ‘niche activities’ with her fellow members. Spanking was very popular she had found out as soon as she joined, as was light bondage involving blindfolds and furry handcuffs, various kinds of role-playing, all pretty tame stuff. She had to admit, though, that Winston would be fairly irresistible wearing little boy undies and bent over her knees for a much-deserved spanking. What would she use? Her hands? No, the back of her hairbrush; she’d be able to keep that up all night without her palms getting sore. She’d make him beg for her to stop. Winston’s phone dinged in his pocket. 

“Are you gonna get that?” Christina asked. She was annoyed and hoping that Winston could hear it clearly in her voice. 

He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his iPhone. “Oh, shit.” It was Jed again, asking if he should come over later. Winston sat up and quickly texted: 

im not well. next time. 

Then Winston wiped his face and said, “I’m so hungry. Do you have anything for dinner?” He hadn’t been able to eat the salad JJ had ordered up to his hotel room and he’d only eaten a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast. He followed Christina into her small galley kitchen, peering into the fridge with her. 

She held up a plastic bag with a wilted head of lettuce. “How’s this?” she offered. 

Winston let out a disgruntled sigh. “How many times have I told you: don’t buy iceberg!” 

“Alright already. Keep your pants on. I haven’t had a chance to go the market this week. Let’s just go to that Spanish place by you. It’s either that or I can give you a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats.” Christina looked into her fridge again and shook her head. “No good. I’m out of soy milk.” 

So they went to Tapas Teatros and ordered grilled octopus and squid, thin slices of Serrano ham, roasted eggplant in minted yogurt, lamb meatballs in a tomato sauce, fingerling potatoes served with aioli. Since it was a Tuesday, they got bombed on ten-dollar pitchers of sangria as they ate, Winston finally loosening up, stomach unclenching as the alcohol worked its magic. He leaned over at the bar at which they were sitting and kissed Christina on the lips, ran his tongue across her teeth as he stroked a hand across the small of her back. “You’re the best,” Winston told her, his eyes bright and glassy. “Are you sure you don’t want to marry me?” He nuzzled her earlobe. “Have babies with me?” 

She caressed the back of his head, her fingers in his silken hair. “You are completely shitfaced right now, so I’ll forgive you for broaching that taboo subject again.” She eyed his love bite, now a deep shade of purple, and pushed him away. “Maybe you should be propositioning Jed…or was it someone else who gave you that hickey? C’mon, out with it. You’re not getting anymore sympathy until you tell me the truth.” 

Winston reached for the pitcher and poured himself another glassful, took a long sip. He stared into his drink and muttered, “I’m…I’m fucking JJ Watt.” He couldn’t even look at her, he felt like such a scumbag. “Or, rather, he’s fucking me. I can’t believe I’m telling you this. I don’t want anyone to know.” He wiped a hand across his forehead and exhaled an exhausted breath, like he had just completed a grueling six-hour surgical procedure. 

Christina’s eyes were like saucers. “J-JJ Watt? And you don’t want anyone to know?” She clutched at her stomach, laughing until there were tears running down her face. “Oh my god, Winston. You’ve outdone yourself, you sneaky little whore. Could you have picked anyone more famous?” She speared a piece of octopus and chewed thoughtfully. “Is this why you keep talking about marriage and babies? JJ’s sperm is turning your brain into mush? I warned you about that, didn’t I? Semen and gray matter don’t mix well.” She sighed when Winston remained glumly silent, stabbing a lamb meatball repeatedly with his fork. “How long has this been going on?” 

“I met him during training camp, at The Greenbriar. Tom Brady introduced us. It was just…an accident, I guess. I thought he was such an asshole.” 

“And?” prompted Christina. 

“Then he invited me to dinner when I was up in Boston.” 

“And?” 

“We had sex in my hotel room.” 

“There we go.” Christina nodded her head and ordered another pitcher from the bartender. She turned to face him, a big smile spread across her lips. “You really are a slut, putting out like that on a first date.” 

Winston groaned and buried his face in both hands. “Oh god, I know! I couldn’t help myself. I was kind of drunk and…I was really horny.” 

“Aren’t we all? So, uh, was he any good?” 

“I guess so.” 

“You _guess_ so? What, you don’t remember?” 

Winston threw up his hands helplessly. “I don’t know, it all happened so fast.” 

“Well, do you remember _coming_ at least?” 

“What is this, the Spanish Inquisition? Yes, I came, and yes, my ass hurt like hell for a week.” 

Christina couldn’t resist giggling. “Does it hurt right now? He gave you that gigantic hickey today, didn’t he? Where else did he suck on you? Did he take you from behind or—” 

“Okay, that’s enough, Tina.” 

“Just asking…as a friend who is concerned about the safety and welfare of your cute little ass.” 

“My ass is fine. Aching, but fine.” 

“What are you going to do about Jed?” She actually felt a little badly for him. There was no way Jed would stand a chance against JJ Watt. Poor clueless Jed, mooning over Winston like an eager puppy while JJ Watt is railing his lover’s ass and sucking on his neck like a vampire. “Does he know you’re cheating on him?” 

“I’m not cheating on him!” insisted Winston. 

“Oh, is that a guy thing? Having more than one lover isn’t cheating?” 

“No, it’s…” The realization crept up slowly on him, like a shadow up a staircase at night—silent, stealthy—until he awoke with a start drenched in sweat, staring into a frightening truth. He _was_ in love and that made him accountable for all the awful things he was doing. He _was_ cheating: on Jed with JJ, on JJ with Jed, on both of them with Christina, using his own misery as an excuse to continue down the same road. That road was so familiar, though, and he wasn’t ready to turn off of it yet, not for any of them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was awfully dialogue-heavy. I'll try to do better next time.


	17. Chapter 17

 

When JJ was a wee boy, he had learned to ice skate like every child growing up in Wisconsin—heck, in Michigan and Minnesota too, for that matter; the winters there were so fucking interminable—and then played hockey in grade school. His hair was very blond back then, and life was so uncomplicated and full of easy joy. His world revolved around his mom and dad and his two younger brothers and his grandpa who always gave him the best birthday presents and his grandma who always made the tastiest Christmas cookies. Pewaukee was just a small town in Waukesha County in Wisconsin, but it was the best place to be in America as far as JJ was concerned. As a boy growing up in the Midwest, he had lived a storybook childhood: there was Friday night fish fry at the restaurant where his grandpa would always order an Old Fashioned from the bar, the county fair with its rickety rides and petting zoo, the annual fireman’s picnic capped off with his grandma’s famous lemon meringue pie, Saturday mornings sitting in his father’s lap pretending to steer the riding mower as his dad cut the grass. What could possibly be better than that? 

It wasn’t until college that he realized there was a bigger world out there, a world that wasn’t going to hand him his every desire on a silver platter. He had been crushed when the only school that would offer him a football scholarship was Central Michigan University. Michigan! He was born and bred in Wisconsin for fuck’s sake. He was _meant_ to be a Badger. So he had pleaded with his parents after a miserable year at CMU, begged them to let him forgo his scholarship and transfer to the University of Wisconsin-Madison and take his chances as a walk-on. It was a huge risk because they weren’t exactly rolling in the dough, but his parents gave him the green light and JJ made it his goal in life _not_ to disappoint them. 

After he signed his phenomenal contract with the Houston Texans, he had bought his mother a brand new SUV for her birthday, complete with an oversized red bow on the hood. His mother had cried and JJ had thought she had never looked more beautiful. She _was_ beautiful, the best mother a boy could have, and he loved her like he knew he would never love another woman. No other woman could even come close, not even Jennifer Aniston. As he buckled his seatbelt while his plane taxied on the runway to head back to Houston, JJ wondered what he would tell his mother when the time came. She had always been so wise, so kind and openhearted. What would she say to him when he finally told her, “Mom, I’m in love. And I’m gonna marry him.” 

He _was_ in love. So fucking deeply in love. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world. And yet. JJ leaned his head back against the seat and gripped the armrests as the plane sped up on the runway, engines whining and rising in pitch, then the entire cabin seemed to lurch forward with that final push against gravity, that breathtaking separation from the safe confines of the earth. Wasn’t that the very same thing? To give oneself over to love…wasn’t that the very same as leaving the earth and letting one’s heart soar? 

*** 

By mid-October, everything was shot to shit. During the first quarter against the Kansas City Chiefs, JJ suffered a season-ending tibial plateau fracture on the very first play. When his leg gave out and he collapsed like a rag doll onto the turf, all he could think was, “Not again!” The fact that there had been no contact at all on that pass play made the injury that much more infuriating and depressing. JJ was beginning to lose count of the number of surgeries he had undergone in just the last few years, and he was beginning to wonder how much longer his body could withstand the abuse. He had never allowed himself to think too far into the future, but as his trainers helped him limp off the field and into the medical tent on the sidelines, he was truly afraid. They had to cart him to the locker room for X-rays; then they sent him to the hospital in a freaking ambulance. The embarrassment was there—he felt like such a wimp—but even more, he realized his body might be saying something he hadn’t wanted to hear. He listened now as he lay strapped onto the gurney, every jostle sending lightning bolts of pain shooting through his left leg and ego, and for the first time in his whole life he was ready to concede defeat. He didn’t want to end up a cripple like so many retired pro footballers, in a wheelchair or barely getting by on crutches, addicted to OxyContin washed down with bourbon and unable to make it up one single flight of stairs. He wouldn’t shed an outward tear—not with the EMT sitting right beside him making small talk—but JJ was crying on the inside, in his heart, tears of sadness and tears of joy. 

But the football gods weren’t done wreaking havoc yet. The next week in Green Bay, Aaron suffered a broken collarbone on his throwing side during a game against the Minnesota Vikings that required surgical repair. He had suffered the same injury to his left side in 2013, but he was four years younger back then and he was able to rehab and return at the end of that season; little hope for that to happen now. Now the Packers had to make do with Brett Hundley, who was unproven, or Joe Callahan, their even more unproven back-up QB, or possibly acquire a free agent. All that remained to be seen. 

What was certain was that Aaron was out and so was JJ, and that was pretty much a clusterfuck of epic proportions in the NFL, especially since both the Packers and the Texans had been on a roll. Julian Edelman going down in the preseason would have been as bad for the Patriots, except the Patriots had Brady, Gronkowski, Amendola; they were deep in ways other teams could only dream of being. Now the entire season would be re-shuffled as competing teams sought to capitalize on these injuries. The fans in Houston and Green Bay were heartbroken, ownership even more so. Nothing sold better in the stadium shops than jerseys with the names ‘Watt’ and ‘Rodgers’ on the backs, nothing kept the crowds streaming in like #99 and #12. 

*** 

The first thing Aaron did after his surgery was call Winston. “Windex, dude, I need a new meal plan, don’t you think? I don’t want to get all flabby like you-know-who.” 

Winston was in the hospital cafeteria for lunch after making the rounds with a trio of second-year medical residents. “Who’s you-know-who?” asked Winston. “I may be a good surgeon but I’m a terrible mind reader. You’re going to have to be a little more specific.” Winston was smiling. He could easily picture Aaron’s face with those irresistible puppy dog eyes and that rough stubble on his chin. 

“Watt, of course,” Aaron replied cheerfully. “Is that specific enough?” 

“Yes. Quite. Have you discussed Mr. Watt’s flabbiness with him directly?” 

“You better believe it and I’m gonna keep rubbing his face in it because me and Brady are the only ones willing to tell him the truth about his sad post-operative physique. He’s probably pigging out on fried pork rinds and nachos right now and drowning his sorrows in a six-pack of canned margaritas.” 

“Wow.” Winston had to pause in admiration. “You really know him well. I tell you what, I’ll write up a new meal plan for you if you grow back that mustache you had during the preseason.” Winston couldn’t grow a mustache to save his life and, being so smooth-skinned, he had a real thing for hairy guys. Those porn stars from the ‘70s with their unkempt beards and ‘staches and thick, full bushes were just the hottest. He understood why porn stars were all completely bare now—it gave one an unobstructed view of the goods and it was probably more hygienic—but there was nothing like a completely hirsute man to get Winston both hard and weak kneed at the same time. 

“Oh, you mean my John Holmes ‘stache?” Aaron laughed. “That monster was such a bitch to maintain. But, I mean, yeah, why not? I’ve got nothing better to do for the next eight weeks at least. And, listen, Win, I’m not kidding about Watt. He needs some serious help. The last time he had surgery, he did all that walking just as an excuse to eat at Denny’s every day, and I’m talking pancakes and fried chicken and ice cream sundaes. Just carbs and fat. He’s really hopeless. Do something for him, won’t you?” 

Aaron’s concern was touching, but perhaps futile, and Winston had decided long ago that JJ wasn’t his client. “What makes you think he would take my advice?” 

“Well, he’s banging you, isn’t he?” 

Winston almost dropped his phone into his bowl of butternut squash soup. He had no idea JJ had talked to anyone about their tenuous relationship, and Aaron had sounded so nonchalant. “Are…are you the only one who knows?” Winston managed to stammer. He had broken out in a sweat suddenly. 

“Beats me. But you know how Watt is: he’s got a huge mouth and he loves flapping it like it’s going out of style.” 

“Is that so?” mumbled Winston. He pushed aside his bowl of soup, his appetite gone. “I’ll have to speak to him about that.” 

“His flapping mouth or his flabby body?” 

“Both I suppose.” 

“Great. And if you’re ever out this way, come see me. I got the whole place feng shuied last year.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. A whole lot of dialogue again. Sorry about that. Maybe I should just turn this story into a screenplay format. It would probably go a lot faster.


	18. Chapter 18

 

Winston really didn’t want to sound hysterical over the phone, so he texted JJ instead: 

u told aaron about us? 

Then he forced himself to eat some soup. It was either that or sit there and hyperventilate. He swallowed a lukewarm spoonful, tasting nothing, and sent another text: 

who else have u told? 

He didn’t even know why he was so freaked out. His sexual orientation was no secret among his family, his friends and colleagues, and he wasn’t about to go into hiding. Why should he? He had every right to be himself. Why was he so upset? His phone rang. Shit. He couldn’t _not_ pick up. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Winston asked right off the bat. 

There was a deafening silence, and then JJ said, “Well, thanks for asking me how I’m doing after my surgery. I really appreciate your concern, Dr. Liu.” 

Winston groaned. He knew he was acting like the most inconsiderate asshole on the planet, but he didn’t care at this point. “You’re in good hands, JJ. I know the surgeon who took care of you at Methodist. He’s one of the best, so I wasn’t worried.” 

“Yeah, well, a phone call would have been nice.” 

“I’m sure you were inundated with phone calls and balloons and stuffed animals and cards and whatever it is that your fans send you every time you break a fucking fingernail,” spewed Winston. It was too late to take it back, so Winston just kept going. “You don’t need me to feed your gargantuan ego.” 

“That…” JJ was mad now, the painkillers dampening his senses and keeping him from raising his voice, “…that is fucking low, Win. What is—” 

“Speaking of phone calls, I was just on the phone with your friend Aaron. _Rodgers_.” 

JJ stared down at his wrapped left knee and the compression brace worn to keep the swelling under control. He had been limping up and down the hallway on crutches in the hospital ward, trying to get some circulation going in the rest of his body. The painkillers had a way of putting his head to sleep even as he knew he was in agony. When he saw that Winston had texted him at last, he had lowered himself down onto the bench with a smile. Now he felt like a fool. 

“Yeah? What about it?” JJ swallowed the large knot in his throat. His pro football career was likely over, and not just for the season, and the guy he loved— _thought_ he loved—had turned into a total shithead while he was under anesthesia. What had happened? This was so unbelievable. JJ wiped at his nose, not even caring if anyone saw him crying. He hoped it was just the drugs playing tricks on his mind, that it wasn’t his heart breaking to pieces for real. 

When Winston spoke, though, he sounded just as hurt, his voice choked and miserable. “Aaron said that…you told him you were _banging_ me.” He spat out ‘banging’ like it was the world’s most disgusting word. “Did you say that to him? Did you say that about me? About us?” It wasn’t until Winston said it aloud that he realized why he was so angry, so devastated. What he had done with JJ was between just the two of them. It was special and so fucking precious, and he didn’t want it aired in public like dirty laundry. Of course, Winston had told Christina about his trysts with JJ, but that seemed to completely slip his mind. He was too busy throwing a pity party to see his own hypocrisy. “You _made_ me love you…and you dragged me through the mud. I thought…I thought you wanted me. I thought you might love me, too. Don’t ever call me again.” 

For the second or third time, Winston hung up on JJ. JJ was stunned, and it wasn’t the OxyContin rendering him helpless. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. What more could go wrong? JJ tried to concentrate on counting to ten. His mother had taught him this trick when he was a boy and prone to anxiety. “Just count to ten,” she had told him. So he counted to ten. “One, two, three…four…five…” He didn’t make it to ten. The world had collapsed before he had even made it to six. 

*** 

The American Academy of Orthopedic Surgeons was holding their annual meeting at the Fairmont in Washington, DC in mid-November* and Winston, out of polite formality, asked Jed first to be his date, knowing full well that Jed likely wouldn’t be able to get off work for five days. Winston was actually hoping that Christina would go with him. She would have the days to spend at the museums in DC while Winston was stuck at the various panel discussions, and then she would attend the nightly dinners with him. They made a lovely couple in formal wear. Last year the event had been held in Orlando, Florida and he had snuck out with Christina on the third day to go to Disney World. They rode both Space Mountain and the Tower of Terror three times each before returning to the hotel for the keynote lecture and dinner, their stomachs lodged in their throats for the rest of the evening. It had been so fun with her. 

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” Jed told him. Fridays were always busy at Marcello’s and Jed could only spare Winston half a minute at the bar where Winston had stopped by to speak to Jed, and for a double shot of espresso before heading home. Christina was coming over to his apartment that evening and they were going to watch both _Annie Hall_ and _Manhattan_ and continue the ongoing debate about which movie was better over martinis and smoked oysters. 

Winston smiled innocently and said, “It’s alright if you can’t, Jed, really,” but that smile was wiped off his face twenty minutes later when Jed caught him before he left and said, “Jonah can fill in for me! I’m all yours!” 

Well, it was Winston’s own fault. After that heartbreaking conversation with JJ, Winston had been destroyed, then determined to move on, especially since JJ hadn’t called him back; there was nothing except stone cold silence. So Winston had reasoned with himself: JJ was a pro footballer, likely Hall of Famer, playing for Houston, and not exactly a candidate for a long-term commitment, no matter how hot he was or how much Winston ached for him. Jed, on the other hand, was in a fairly deadend job, but that didn’t matter because Winston could support both of them easily and Jed was such a consistently good lay. It wasn’t mind-blowing sex like it had been with JJ, but Jed was sweet and competent and didn’t give him any lip when it came to Christina. They had even had a threesome. And…shit…it had been better than Winston imagined it could be. 

It was Christina who had suggested it, texting him with a brief message: 

my new strap-on has arrived! let’s try it out! bring jed! 

Winston was sitting in his office eating a salad of wild rice, chick peas, and blended herbs, and trying to write nice things in his report for one particular third year resident who was just plain failing in every way. Christina’s text made him feel a tad nervous. He texted her back: 

why should i bring jed? 

In less than a minute, she texted back: 

double penetration 

Oh god. Did she mean for him? That was just…insane. No way. No fucking way! 

That very Sunday night, though, Winston was getting simultaneously drilled by both Jed and Christina with her slender six-inch strap-on dildo, Jed beneath him holding his legs apart on the bed, cock lodged deep inside his ass, Winston’s sweaty back plastered against Jed’s chest, while Christina knelt between Winston’s thighs, rocking her hips into him, saying filthy things like, “Fuck, I’ll bet you could take my fingers, too. I’ll bet you could take my fist.” 

Winston was scared to death and turned on like never before. When Christina reached over and pinched both of his nipples, he came, his cock untouched as she drove that silicone dildo into him alongside Jed’s hard dick. Winston saw white behind his tightly shut eyelids, then red. He pushed out a desperate cry of release as both Jed and Christina continued pounding into him, egging each other on. He didn’t hear what they were saying to each other, he didn’t care. In his mind’s eye it was JJ’s hands gripping his legs, JJ’s cock opening him up beyond imagination, JJ’s lips against the side of his cheek. And then, the next day, JJ called him, a whole month after they had last spoken. 

“Are you still mad at me?” JJ asked. 

Winston was standing in his kitchen, grinding coffee beans while both Jed and Christina were still asleep in his bed. Winston had awoken at seven on a Monday morning with a very sore ass. The sound of JJ’s voice made Winston swallow with regret…and happiness. God, how he had missed him! 

“Did I ever say I was mad at you?” Winston replied. He hoped that JJ would understand that he was waving a white flag of surrender. 

“I dunno,” JJ mumbled. “You sounded pretty mad the last time we talked.” And then JJ heard it, the stifled sobs across the 1250+ miles spanning the distance between Houston and Baltimore. “Win…I said you were mine. Are you? Will you? Just tell me. Tell me you’re mine.” 

Winston cried into his phone, out of his mind with joy and guilt, “I had a three-way last night. But, yes, I’m yours.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The American Academy of Orthopedic Surgeons normally hold their annual meeting in March each year, but this is fiction.


	19. Chapter 19

 

To hear Winston cry over the phone and say, “I’m yours,” made JJ so very happy. Then he was pissed as all heck. 

“A three-way?” JJ shouted. “You had a fucking three-way? Without me?” He slammed his fist into his Sub-Zero refrigerator and immediately regretted it. There was a large dent in the brushed aluminum door now and the last thing JJ needed was a fractured right hand to go with his gimpy left leg. “I swear to god, Win, I’m gonna make you pay. The next time I see you…you won’t be able to sit for a fucking _week_!” 

“Um…” Winston craned his neck from where he was standing in his own kitchen to hear if there was any noise coming from behind the closed door of his bedroom, and then whispered a little too eagerly, “Are you going to spank me again?” Without even realizing it, he began palming his cock through his briefs. 

JJ stopped rubbing his sore knuckles. He had totally lost his train of thought: let’s see…I’m at the fridge…gonna make a bacon and egg sandwich…must spank Dr. Liu. JJ gulped, his own cock twitching with interest. He was at his apartment in Houston and not wearing any pants, not even underwear, because it was such a bother to get them on and off with his left knee still in a brace. He would begin rehab at the medical center this week, but until then he was pretty much going commando in the privacy of his home, wearing just a loose Badgers jersey that hung below his hips. Even visits from friends didn’t garner the donning of pants, merely a bathrobe thrown on and tied at the waist. It was rather liberating to hobble around with his junk swinging free. Perhaps this is how those hippie chicks from the ‘60s and ‘70s felt when they decided to go braless, thought JJ. He would definitely wear an apron when he was at the stove, though. There was no way any bacon grease was landing on his privates. But the bacon could wait because now he was hungry for something else. JJ put his phone on speaker and eased himself onto a stool at the center island. 

“Yeah,” he told Winston, his voice rough with sudden need. “Naughty boys like you need to be spanked.” JJ reached over for the bottle of lotion sitting on the counter and pumped some into his hand; then he lifted his jersey and started stroking himself. He had already taken care of his morning wood an hour ago when he was still in bed, so he knew he’d be able to last more than five minutes now. That was the plan at least. “I went easy on you before, Winston, but next time, I’m bending you over the back of my leather couch after I slip a cock ring around your dick and balls, and your tight, hot hole is gonna swallow the fattest plug and you’re gonna keep it stuffed inside you while I slap the shit out of your round little ass cheeks.” 

“Oh god…no…no…” Winston was panting right into his phone, gripping it so hard his knuckles were turning white. His other hand was inside his briefs, squeezing and tugging and twisting along the hardened length of his erection, the countertop digging into the small of his back as he leaned against it for support. “I don’t want to. Don’t make me do it.” 

“Oh, I’m making you, you bad little boy. I’m spanking your ass ‘til it’s flaming red, until it’s on fire—they’re gonna be able to dust for my fingerprints on your ass—and that plug is gonna pound your sweet spot each and every time my hand comes down on your cheeks. Maybe I’ll tie your legs together again. And you don’t get to touch yourself. No, your cock is gonna be sliding up against that leather, but it won’t be enough. Will it?” 

Winston doubled over. JJ’s low rumbling voice was right inside his head, making him weak and dizzy and trembling for release. “Ungh! No! Fuck…I want to come…let me come…” 

JJ could feel himself getting close. “No fucking way. That cock ring isn’t coming off until you’ve learned your lesson. I’m not letting you come until you tell me you’re sorry.” 

“I’m sorry,” Winston moaned. 

JJ let out a disdainful grunt. “That didn’t sound sincere.” 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” 

“Whose little bitch are you?” JJ demanded. 

“Yours!” 

“Say it again, you dirty, cheating slut.” JJ gritted his teeth. He was just about there. 

“I’m your bitch! I’m your slut! I’m yours, JJ. I’m all yours!” 

“Then come for me, baby.” JJ groaned and shot up into his jersey, the excruciating pain and pressure in his left knee forgotten for a blissful moment. Winston’s stuttering moans wafted through JJ’s kitchen like the sweetest aroma. “Did you come into your hand?” asked JJ. “Did you get your fingers all filthy?” 

“Y-Yes,” Winston admitted, breathless. 

“Put your fingers in your mouth. Lick yourself clean. Let me hear it.” A wide grin twisted across JJ’s face as he heard soft slurping sounds and a low whining noise. “How does it taste, Win?” 

“Nngh…it’s…okay…” 

“Just okay? That’s not what I remember...my sweet baby boy.” JJ wiped his own hand on a napkin, then rested both palms against his eyelids, elbows on the countertop. His heart was throbbing again, his throat tightening up. “I wish I could kiss you right now.” Strangely enough, they hadn’t kissed all that much the few times they had been together. Too busy doing other things, JJ supposed, but it was Winston’s mouth that he often daydreamed about. 

“JJ…” Winston whispered. He touched his lips, tracing his fingers across them, feathery touches. “Kiss me soft and slow next time…like you love me for real.” 

 _Like you love me for real_. JJ was too choked to say anything at first. Of course it’s for real, he wanted to shout, but was it? Was this all just a crazy fantasy they were both playing out, a fucked up game? But if it were just a game, then why did it feel so good and hurt so bad? Why did it matter so much? Winston had told him before not to promise what he couldn’t deliver, so JJ said finally, “Okay, soft and slow.” He knew he could make good on that. “The next time I see you, I’m gonna go all _Drunk in Love_ on your face.” 

Winston laughed. Jed liked playing Barry White and Luther Vandross when they had sex, but a little Beyoncé and Jay-Z couldn’t hurt either. Speaking of Jed…they were leaving for DC later in the day to check into the Fairmont Hotel and attend the cocktail hour and dinner that kicked off the AAOS annual meeting. There was little chance he _wouldn’t_ be having sex with Jed over the next five days; staying in a posh hotel suite made it virtually impossible _not_ to have sex and Jed had already showed Winston the three new types of condoms and lube he wanted them to try out, plus some kind of vibrating cock ring. 

Winston sighed with guilt and resignation. “I’m your bitch, JJ, your cheating slut. That’s what I am, right?” 

“Yeah,” JJ sighed back. “Yeah, you are. And I do love you…for real.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rather short, but I have most of the next chapter written and will post again soon.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JJ, Aaron, and Clay attempt a three-way. It's a disaster. What else did you expect?

 

Winston had said he was sorry, but that didn’t negate the fact that he had enjoyed a three-way while JJ had been deprived of such an indulgence. The unwritten but universally understood laws governing the male psyche dictated that balance must be maintained for the good of all. So. 

“I can’t believe I agreed to do this,” Clay grumbled, mostly to himself, “but I guess a guy should try everything once before he meets his maker.” He kicked off his shoes and tossed his shirt onto the armchair in the corner, warily eyeing the two other men standing in the hotel room with him.

The Packers were in Pittsburgh to play the Steelers; Aaron had been cleared to travel with the team and offer verbal support to Brett Hundley from the sideline, and JJ had flown in to watch his younger brother TJ play against Green Bay. For this particular game, JJ’s allegiance fell on his brother’s side of the fence, because family was everything. What was going to go down in the hotel room wasn’t about allegiances, though. It was about bros helping another bro maintain universal balance. 

Clay turned to JJ, who was still limping around like an old man and couldn’t even get out of his pants without a struggle. “Explain this to me again: we’re doing this ‘cause your little boyfriend cheated on you?” 

JJ was already sweating with the exertion it took to push his jeans past both knees. “It’s not about the cheating!” JJ snapped. Well, it was about that, too, but he didn’t want to appear like he was the idiot being cuckolded. “It’s about leveling the playing field,” he explained. 

Aaron was grinning in that cocky, knowing way of his. “JJ can’t stand that he’s less _experienced_ than his teenaged lover,” he told Clay. 

“He’s twenty-five!” JJ shouted at Aaron. “You said yourself that he’s totally legal!” 

“Yeah, but you’re right about him looking _fifteen_ ,” Aaron prodded, “and that makes you a certified pervert. _Legally_.” 

“I said he…did I say that?” Now JJ was uncomfortable. Did he really say that Winston looked fifteen? He didn’t want Clay to think he was some disgusting child molester. That was so unfair of Aaron to even imply such a thing, that dirty, rotten scoundrel. 

Aaron tapped his phone a few times and handed it to Clay. “Here. Have a look.” 

Clay stared intently at the picture on Aaron’s iPhone and nodded, “Yeah, he looks fifteen. Eighteen at the most, but I’m only saying that ‘cause—” 

“Why the fuck do you have a picture of my boy on your phone?” JJ hobbled over wincing in pain. “Let me see.” Clay handed him Aaron’s phone and JJ’s heart stopped. The photo of a smiling Winston standing next to Tom Brady was dated almost a year and a half ago and JJ recognized the interior of Aaron’s living room. “He was at your fucking _house_?” 

“Yeah, that was when Tom brought him over to my house to introduce us. We had dinner and Winston agreed to design my nutrition plan. You know all this, you dumbass.” Aaron grabbed his phone back and set it on the coffee table. 

“I didn’t know he was at your house,” muttered JJ. 

“Don’t worry,” Aaron teased. “I didn’t jump his bones on a first date…like some people we know.” 

“I didn’t jump his bones!” JJ insisted. 

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Clay gravely intoned. Then Clay and Aaron high-fived. 

“You know what?” sputtered JJ . “This is starting to be the most unsexy three-way ever. How am I supposed to get a boner with you quoting the freaking Bible at me?” 

“Uh, that was Shakespeare, JJ,” Aaron clarified. “ _Hamlet,_ Act 3, Scene 2.” 

“Yeah,” Clay sneered with contempt, “I wouldn’t desecrate the Good Book, not like this.” He waved his hand at the three of them in various stages of undress. “And who cares if your schlong isn’t working. Just bend over and we’ll take care of business.” Clay winked at Aaron. “They don’t call us Packers for nothing.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Matthews. Enough with the jokes, and there’s no way I’m bending over for either of you,” JJ snorted. 

It took another ten minutes of arguing to decide who was doing what to whom. Who the fuck knew a threesome could be so complicated? 

Clay wanted more clarity, more certainty in the matter. “I think we all need to sign some kind of consent form or maybe a disclosure statement or—” 

“Are you a lawyer now?” JJ interrupted. “It’s a fucking three-way! My dick and your dick are going into Rodgers’ ass.” 

“At the same time?” asked Clay nervously. 

“Yes, at the same fucking time. If my boy can—” 

This time Clay interrupted. “No way is my dick touching your dick, Watt. This puppy doesn’t play that way.” 

“Fine, stick it into some other hole, then. Stick it into his mouth,” suggested JJ. 

“Uh, you know, I’m standing right here,” Aaron protested. 

Once things got underway, though, Aaron really started chirping. 

“Ow!” yelped Aaron. “My sciatica!” 

“You don’t have sciatica, you big baby.” JJ’s tone of voice left no doubt about his complete lack of sympathy. “Only old ladies have sciatica.” 

A grunt could be heard behind Aaron’s left ear. Clay moved his head and nodded into Aaron’s shoulder. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I gotta agree with Watt. My grandma never shuts up about it.” 

“But there’s this pain shooting up my right hip and into my back,” Aaron insisted. “Isn’t that sciatica?” 

“No,” JJ stated, “that’s just you being a sissy. Now quit wriggling around so much. How am I supposed to drill your ass if it’s jumping around like a jack rabbit?” It was true. Aaron’s sweet hole was a like a bull’s eye that wouldn’t hold still and JJ’s cock wasn’t about to hit a moving target with ease, not with his stiff left knee and limited mobility. “Grab his legs tighter,” JJ told Clay. “Don’t let him move around.” 

Clay gave an even louder grunt. “I’ll try, but my right foot is falling asleep and—” 

“Just hold him still!” JJ ordered with exasperation. 

They were in the ‘sitting area’ and Clay’s sweating back was sticking to the leather armchair. He groaned as he hitched his body into a more upright position, the distressed leather grabbing onto his skin painfully, and hoisted Aaron up along with him in his lap. “Your tailbone is crushing my dick, bro!” complained Clay. 

“How is that my fault?” asked Aaron. “This is all JJ’s brilliant idea. And I’m not supposed to move my right arm so much.” Aaron felt a tad foolish in this position, held in Clay’s lap with his thighs spread and all his junk on display while JJ knelt on his good leg in front of them, grimacing as he tried to keep his left leg stretched out, his hard-on waving like a flag…if a flag were a thick long condom-sheathed sausage. 

“Okay, fine, let’s try something else,” Clay decided. “ _Somebody_ has to be the brains behind this operation and it might as well be me: Watt, you sit on the floor between my legs facing away. Rodgers, you sit in his lap facing me. That way you can suck me off while you’re riding him. How’s that for a plan?” 

JJ and Aaron stared at each other, thinking, thinking… 

“For crying out loud, this isn’t calculus!” Clay shouted. “Do I need to draw a fucking diagram?” 

After much groaning and grunting, JJ and Aaron managed to maneuver themselves into position on the floor in front of Clay. JJ lubed up his cock and held it steady as Aaron lowered himself down, his hands on Clay’s thighs. He had to go slow—it had been awhile since he’d done this with JJ—and it burned like hell. Once he was fully seated, Clay got impatient. 

“Okay, now my turn.” He leaned forward in the chair so Aaron could reach his cock easily with his mouth. That placed his junk near JJ’s left ear. 

“Oh, great,” JJ muttered. He could hear every slurp and lick and suck as Aaron got down to the business of blowing Clay. Aaron’s labored breathing was hot in JJ’s ear and he had to admit, it was turning him on aplenty, even with Clay’s balls rubbing against the side of his head. “Your pubes are tickling my ear!” JJ complained. 

“Move your big fat head, then,” Clay replied. “Fuck, Rodgers, you could rent that mouth out for parties.”

Aaron pulled off for just a moment to agree, “Yeah, I’m full of hidden talents.” Then he closed his lips around Clay’s cock again and started rocking his hips into JJ’s lap. 

JJ reached down and wrapped his hand around Aaron’s dick and tried, for the love of god, to ignore the sensation of Aaron’s lips around Clay’s cock brushing against his jaw, the rustling of Clay’s pubes at his ear. He hadn’t signed up for this! Then Aaron started moaning and rutting into him harder and faster, saliva dripping onto JJ's shoulder from Aaron's fist pumping up and down Clay's shaft, and before JJ could yelp, “Hold on a fucking minute!” he was met with cum from too many directions: Aaron spurting onto his chest as JJ jacked him off, Clay shooting his load onto JJ's face as Aaron pulled off of Clay’s cock at the last second. 

“Oh, Jesus!” JJ shouted. He knocked Aaron off his lap like he was swatting his way past an offensive tackle, and frantically wiped at his face. “I've got cum in my eye! Oh, Christ! This is un-fucking-acceptable!" 

Well, it was, wasn’t it? JJ was splattered with cum and none of it was even his own; he hadn't even had an orgasm and now the universe was even more unbalanced than before. After a massive effort to scramble to his feet—leaving Aaron sprawled on his back like an upturned beetle—JJ managed to limp to the bathroom and slam the door shut, the condom slipping off his softening dick onto the tiled floor with a wet splat. He picked it up with a Kleenex and dropped it into the trash bin. Then he washed his hands and face with soap. “Fuck,” JJ mumbled under his breath. He didn’t even attempt to jack off in the shower; the mood had turned too sour. Instead, he sent both Aaron and Clay to their own rooms and texted Winston: 

u win

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to be a stand-alone smutty one-shot, but I decided instead to write it into Good Things Come in Small Packages for a little levity. I thought the story needed some silliness for poor JJ at this point.


	21. Chapter 21

 

r we in a competition? if so, news to me 

That was the text JJ received from Winston eight hours later. Eight hours! What the hell could he have been doing for eight hours that prevented him from replying sooner, thought JJ. JJ was standing in his seat two rows up from the Steelers’ sideline cheering on his younger brother TJ who, like Clay, was an outside linebacker. JJ’s other brother Derek was a fullback on the LA Chargers’ offensive squad. To have both brothers follow him into the NFL was a source of boundless pride and joy for JJ. They were just starting their careers and…well, was his own tenure in the pros ending? The thought had run through JJ’s mind more and more since this latest injury. He had briefly considered retiring the year before, when a staph infection in his leg was caught in the nick of time; he would have lost that leg if an astute trainer hadn’t sent JJ straight to the hospital for treatment. But could he walk away from something that had encompassed his whole existence for so many years? JJ had lived, eaten, breathed football his entire adult life. How would he survive without it—the excitement, the anticipation, the adrenalin rush of violence and victory? 

JJ could see Aaron on the other side of the field chatting with Brett Hundley, the Packers QB ever since Aaron had been out with his broken collarbone. The aborted three-way earlier that morning was something JJ would rather forget altogether. What had ever made him think that bringing Clay into the mix was a good idea? The man had given him a freaking _facial_ , for fuck’s sake! What a joke. JJ texted Winston back: 

didn’t i tell you? you stole my heart. u don’t play fair 

Another five minutes passed before Winston replied: 

fine. give me more than what ive got now 

JJ texted back: 

and whats tht? 

An hour later, JJ finally received the following from Winston: 

3 orgasms 

“Shit,” JJ muttered under his breath. He texted back: 

i luv u but u r a douche 

***

Six months had passed and JJ’s left leg had healed. He no longer walked with a limp on a good day. The apartment in Houston was now leased to someone else, someone _not_ named JJ Watt. JJ Watt no longer played for the Houston Texans, even if only he and his family and a few close friends knew it. He would make his announcement formally to the media before training camp in August. Until then, he planned on enjoying a few months of blissful retreat from the real world.

It was spring in Waukesha County in Wisconsin and JJ planned on hitting the links. The sun was just coming up. He could see the bursts of yellow streaming through the cracks in the darkening shades in his bedroom as he rolled onto his side and snuggled up against a much smaller body and nuzzled his face against dark, ebony hair. He breathed him in, his lovely scent, and wrapped his arm around Winston’s chest, groping for a nipple to rub his thumb across. 

Winston could feel JJ smile against the back of his head. “What are you doing?” he mumbled into his pillow. He rearranged his legs, pushing his ass into JJ’s groin and reveling in the almost instantaneous twitching of JJ’s cock, luxuriating in the heat, then the increasing length and rigidity…so good. “I’m not awake yet,” Winston murmured, even as he reached back and stroked JJ’s thigh. “Go back to sleep.” 

“Hmm.” JJ lifted his head and kissed Winston’s shoulder. “I’m playing a round with TJ and Derek this morning,” JJ told him. “I gotta get up soon.”

Winston stirred, reaching over to the clock on the nightstand to turn it towards his face. “It’s only six,” he told JJ. Winston didn’t like getting up before seven. Plus, he was supposedly on ‘vacation’ at JJ’s ‘cabin’ in Wisconsin. No fucking way was he getting up with the birds. 

“The course opens at eight on a Saturday,” JJ explained. “I’m meeting them for breakfast at Denny’s beforehand.” 

Winston groaned in disgust and rolled over onto his back. He sighed at the ceiling, pulling the covers up to his chin. “I won’t let you fuck me anymore if you get fat and flabby,” Winston threatened. “Do you plan on letting yourself go now that you’re ‘retired’?” 

JJ licked a wet stripe up Winston’s neck to his ear and smiled when Winston shivered with delight. “You don’t need to worry about that,” JJ assured him. “When I’m not eating at Denny’s I’ll be at my parents’ house. I love my mom, but she’s no cook. Besides, you’re coming with me this morning. We’re playing a round of four-ball, so I need you to be my partner.” 

“I fucking hate you,” Winston declared. 

“Yeah, I hate you, too,” JJ said as he lifted himself on top of Winston. “For future reference, I plan on eating whatever _you_ cook me.” He bent down and kissed Winston, morning breath and all, he didn’t give a damn. “I’m gonna marry you, whether you like it or not. We can do it here or in Baltimore. You’re not getting away from me, Win. You’re mine and I’m gonna make it legit.” 

Winston stiffened beneath him with surprise. Then he pushed JJ off of him, fully awake and in a panic. “What the fuck are you saying?” Winston asked. He rolled atop JJ’s chest, one hand at JJ’s throat, one by his cheek. “Don’t…don’t talk like that.” Winston’s eyebrows were knitted in displeasure, his expression bordering on sadness. “Don’t mess with my heart.” He pressed his face against JJ’s chest. “Don’t break me in half.” 

JJ brought his arms up to embrace Winston, hug him close. “I’m never letting you go,” JJ whispered. “Didn’t I tell you before? You’re mine. Say yes. Say you’ll be mine forever. Marry me. You won’t regret it.” 

Winston didn’t lift his head. No. He kept his face hidden against JJ’s warm body. Everything flooded into him like the tide, inexorable, unstoppable, every touch that had been laid on him before, every kiss, every lick and suck, every welcome penetration, violation, every step closer to death and immortality, and then he let it all ebb away. Winston had found it at last, the man who would be his and no one else’s. The man he would finally give himself to completely. And without saying a word, JJ understood it as well. He didn’t need to hear Winston say it. The tears, hot and wet, bathing his chest told JJ everything he needed to know. Winston had hit the reset button on JJ's life. JJ would start all over again. And it would be better than the first time around.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. I wanted to end it on a high note of hope and happiness. I hope you enjoyed the ride.
> 
> *****  
> On November 10, 2017, someone going by 'Anonymous' falsely claimed authorship of this story by posting the following on a website called 4chan, stating: "I wrote a 31,000 word gay fanfiction between JJ Watt and Aaron Rodgers. What do you guys think? It's my OTP." 
> 
> This person then provides a direct link to this story on AO3.
> 
> All I can say is: whoever you are, please don't steal someone else's work! Don't take credit for anything, good or bad, that isn't truly your own doing. If you are a fan of JJ or Aaron or anything, write your own freaking story! Seriously. 
> 
> Fanfiction writers post stories in good faith. Read it if you like it. Don't read it if you dislike it. If you like it and want to share or cite it, then give proper credit. Please don't plagiarize or make false claims. It destroys all trust between reader and writer and it is such a dishonest thing to do.  
> *****


End file.
